The Restoration of David de Vigny
by OnlyaNovel
Summary: My version of the Beauty and the Beast-told with an emphasis on romance rather than magic.
1. Prelude

_**This story is complete. I will post the first two chapters today, and one each day after that.**_

**Prelude: The House**

The years had lain heavily on the ancient home. The grime and rain and mold of hundreds of years stained the once bright stones, crumbled and decayed now. The walls were wearing away at the edges, and the highest, most outer wall seemed sometimes to be held together by little more than the thick green ivy which grew over it closely, almost protectively.

Sometimes, a wandering or particularly brave hunting party might penetrate that deeply into the forests and, if especially observant, might even note the signs of former cultivation—the low, tumbled walls, the old fruit tress standing in unnaturally straight rows above all the wild saplings in between. A few even found the ancient fountain, long broken and reclaimed by the woods. It is doubtful if any of them recognized that paved pathways and broad, once-smooth avenues lay far beneath the leaves and undergrowth their horses trod so quietly over. But for those who found the ivy-grown walls there was mystery and a sense of foreboding. Even the venturesome could find no way to ascend the wall, or to look over it, and attempts to follow it showed only that it ran on a long way indeed, turning eventually, but then getting lost in a perfectly impenetrable bramble of bushes, trees, and vines. In the end, they all left it with a shiver and the story spread throughout the nearby villages of the mysterious green wall and lost park that lay around it.

In light of all this, it remains a mystery indeed how the steps of one errant traveler led him there, late one winter's night, or how he found the great iron gates that lay beyond the brambles, covered themselves until they were indistinguishable from the wall on either side, but—he did. He did and this is the story of what he found within them, and how his coming brought peace at last to the long tortured soul who lived there.


	2. 1 The Traveler

**1. The Traveler**

Alexander Germond was a perfectly respectable—and prosperous—tradesman. He was a hearty man, hale and strong at fifty. He was accustomed to travelling by himself on business trips, but on this occasion a series of mishaps led to his getting lost in the forest. Bad weather and tardy partners had delayed him in the city too long. His oldest daughter was expecting her first child any day, and being a fond family man, he was naturally anxious to return quickly. In addition, he had news—news that could affect his business for years to come, and precious papers to be signed. That is why he pushed on when he would have ordinarily stopped, and why, finding a narrow road in disrepair, he decided to chance a short cut though the forest. His sense of direction was good, he reasoned, and would guide him.

Soon, however, the trees closed over him so that he couldn't see the stars and in the darkness he and his horse became hopelessly lost. For hours he wandered in the deepening cold, hoping to find some trail or sign of habitation. When at last he had decided that he had no choice but to stop until morning, cold as it was, he lifted his lamp high—and saw the gate. Afterward he could never explain how he knew it was a gate, but he did. He approached it and somehow in the mass of leaves he saw the great iron ring, and he grasped it and pulled. Silently, as silently and smoothly as if it had been oiled yesterday, it swung just open enough to admit them. He and his horse passed through.

In the darkness he could not see much but a winding pathway and the dark bulk of a great house looming against the sky. And one lighted window.

He felt, he said later, like he was in a trance, or a dream. His heart beat heavily, but he wasn't scared, just drawn forward with inevitable fascination to the heavy, carved door that sat at the top of those broad, shallow steps. It, too, swung open at his touch. Inside, he knew he stood in a large, open hall and dimly perceived a staircase ahead. To his right warm firelight spilled through a doorway. He walked in and immediately the sense of unreality vanished, to be replaced by very real astonishment.

Here was as cozy a gentleman's study as you could desire, with books and armchairs and a roaring blaze in an old-fashioned fireplace. By the fire was set a table, freshly laid with a spotless linen tablecloth, and a small banquet of food ready, next to a sliver tea service and a crystal brandy decanter. Someone lived here—someone was expected.

"Hello?" He called out tentatively, glancing around nervously. Now that he was here, in the prosaic reality of hearth and food, he felt quite astonished at himself, that he would have come in so boldly. Whoever lived behind that wall could not want company. "Hello?" he said again, louder this time. "Is anyone home? I'm—I'm terribly sorry to intrude," he continued in an elevated voice. "I lost my way—and it's terribly cold outside—the door was open—do you mind if I stay a bit?" He fidgeted anxiously, looking back toward the darkened hall. What should he do? "I say," he resumed, "my horse is outside. Do you have anywhere she can shelter? I hate to be a bother, of course, but—_is_ anyone home?"

For a few more minutes he stood, torn between hunger and the desire to run. Hunger won. Tentatively he drew closer to the fire, took a grape and ate it quickly. It tasted so sweet his mouth watered for more, and before he knew it he was consuming all of it—the fruit, the fresh bread, the cheese and cold meat, well seasoned and carved. He touched the teapot—it was hot. He was just wondering if he dared pour himself a cup before fleeing, when a voice came from the corner of the room. "Welcome," it said.

Germond blanched and fell back, stuttering apologies and explanations. The voice cut him short.

"You have no need to apologize. The food was here for you."

The man faltered, his eyes trying to discern who it was. "I don't understand."

"Every night I leave a fire in this room, and food for wondering travelers who might need shelter or sustenance. That is why the door is never locked, or the gate." The voice paused. "Although it has been—many years—since anyone has stopped here."

At last Germond's eyes had found the figure, standing in the very furthest corner of the long room, well out of the reach of the firelight. He looked tall, and broad shouldered, but that was all he could discern. The voice, though, was deep, pleasant and cultured.

"My horse—" the man began, but the stranger cut him off.

"I have already seen to her. She is fed and warm."

"Sir, I have to thank you—this is kindness indeed. Can I—can I know to whom I owe such a debt?"

"There is no debt. You may stay here until morning. All I ask is that you remain in this room, and that you leave at first light, without going to any other part of the house or grounds. Your mount will be ready for you."

"Yes, yes of course, but—can I know your name? I am—I am Alexander Germond, at your service. And you—sir?"

There was a long silence and then, ever so softly, came the words, "I have no name." And the black figure disappeared into the greater blackness behind it.


	3. 2 The Beast

**2. The Beast**

There did not seem to be anything left for Mr. Germond to do but obey the stranger's orders. He could not leave without his horse even if he wanted to. He felt, to be sure, very nervous for the first hour, but eventually the warm, placid fire, working together with the brandy he had felt in need of, and of course his own exhaustion, overcame him, and he fell into a deep sleep, sitting in a soft armchair.

When he woke up, full daylight streamed through the window behind him. Jumping up with a start, he stared around him. In the morning light now he could see the cracks on the walls, age stains, the old-fashioned ornate molding around the high ceiling, and the dust that seemed to lay over everything beyond the area around the fire. A whinny made him turn his head, and he saw his mare standing at the foot of the steps outside, harnessed and saddled, stamping the ground impatiently.

On the table next to him the previous night's meal had been replaced by a new one. He touched the tea pot—it was cold. He had overslept, then. He remembered the stranger's injunction to leave at first light, and snatching up a piece of bread and his hat and gloves, hastened out, full of dread for what he might have done.

Refusing to so much as look around him, he ran through the hall, out the door and down the stairs to his horse. He placed his hand on her saddle and was about to mount when he looked up and stopped dead, staring in wonder.

Before him stretched a vast garden unlike any he'd ever seen. It clearly had been untended for many years because everything was overgrown—but it was nonetheless, indeed all the more, beautiful.

Down sloping and terraced hills flowed rivers of flowers. Great flowering bushes had entirely taken over the beds they were planted in and the flowers themselves rioted together joyously over the lawns and pathways, brilliant and thriving even for lack of care. Here and there pieces of graceful statuary peeked out and a flowing stream wended its way back and forth across—no, several streams ran, from the house, down toward the distant wall, pausing in ponds and even a working fountain or two. Half-fallen down graceful gazebos had been built throughout and little bridges and stepping stones and everything whimsical and beautiful had been added at sometime by someone. Add to all this the untamed splendor of those flowers, with dancing butterflies and birds singing to each other from tree to tree and it is no wonder that our weary traveler paused to gape.

As he continued to look, he saw the house, large, symmetrical, built grandly and beautifully once, though now unmistakably decaying. It looked all the more desolate in contrast to the thriving life outside of it. It was a house that bore all the signs of being uninhabited.

But—someone lived here. Someone had laid that meal for him last night and spoken to him from the darkness. _Who_? And why? Why did he live here alone and hide in the shadows like that?

Now, Alexander Germond was a very sensible man and should, based on everything he'd ever done, have gotten on his horse and ridden away at that point. In fact, he was just about to do so, when he heard something. He heard music.

It was harp music, and it was more beautiful, he thought, than any he'd ever heard before. Mr. Germond had two daughters who played the harp, but neither of them had ever sounded like this. This was sweet and haunting and sad and hopeful and sighing and weeping and dreaming all at once. It seemed the kind of song that would drive you mad if you listened to it too long, but that you couldn't bear to stop listening to.

Insensibly, hardly knowing what he was doing, Germond began to follow that music, walking away from his horse down a crumbling path through all those exquisite flowers. He followed it, searching, until he came to an open area, where a sun dial lay (cleared of overgrowth), surrounded on each side by a curving stone bench. On one of these, his back toward Germond, and head bowed, sat a man.

He knew he was a man by the shape of his body and his clothes, but even then he knew something was wrong, although he couldn't say what. But the music came from him, for it ceased the moment Germond's foot fell on the ground behind him. Then, without moving, he spoke, and it was the voice of the Stranger. "Why have you come here?"

"I—I'm sorry," mumbled Germond, backing up and suddenly feeling very foolish. "I heard the music and—it was so beautiful—I hardly knew what I was doing. I'll leave now, immediately." He turned to go, but the voice again arrested him.

"I asked you to leave at first light. Why did you not do as I said?"

He could tell if its tone was sad or angry, but something about it made his blood run cold. "I overslept!" he said imploring. "I'm sorry. I did not mean offense. I will leave immediately."

"You cannot!" All of a sudden, the Stranger stood up and turned to face him, and Germond shrank back in fear, for he saw that it was not really a man at all, but some sort of man-beast, with enough of man's form to walk up right and wear his clothes, and use his hands—but for the rest, an animal. Not just a man covered in hair, but something altogether different—a beast.

And yet that elegant, well-bred voice spoke on, though now so full of sorrowful doom that Germond began to really tremble all over and nearly fell to the ground in fear. "You cannot leave now," he said, "because there is a curse on this place, as there is on me, and now that you have seen it and seen me, you must stay. If you had left when I bid you all would have been well, but now that you have walked in this garden and seen me, you must stay. This is the curse that is on this place, that any who see me must remain here with me, until death."

"No!" Germond cried. "No!" He turned and ran as fast as he could, back to his horse. He leapt on her and urged her quickly to a gallop, racing down the long driveway to the high gates. He could see them somewhat from this side, the rusted black iron in intricate patterns.

The gates were locked. They were locked by some means he could not discern, though long and frantically he searched for the secret. When that failed he tried to climb it, but only ended up back on the ground, panting and exhausted from his efforts.

"You will not get out that way." The voice of the Beast aroused him. And now that he saw the creature walking toward him he saw that he did not move quite like a man, but more like an animal might, if it could walk on two feet.

"Unlock the gate, you foul thing!" he cried at him. "Let me out! You must let me out!"

"I cannot," it replied implacably, folding its muscular arms. "No more than I can myself leave this place."

"But you don't understand!" Now he flung himself down on the ground before him, begging him on his knees. "I have a family—children, a grandchild perhaps. They need me! Without me they will diminish into poverty. My daughters will have to work, my sons be apprenticed out, even my son–in-law depends on my return for his business. You must have pity on them, if not me. You must have pity!"

"I have told you I have no power!" Now the Beast's voice flashed out angrily, merging into something very near to a snarl. "It is you who have done this, not me. You disobeyed me, you overstayed your welcome. I gave you food and shelter and you did not even respect my wishes!"

"Oh that you had never done so!" replied the wretched man bitterly. "What did I ever do to you, that you should lay such a trap for me?"

The creature seemed about to answer, but instead moved to the horse, and taking its bridle, began to lead it back towards the house. The man trailed despairingly after him.


	4. 3 The Bargain

**3. The Bargain**

The next few days passed dream-like for our friend Germond. The Beast entertained him in solitary, decayed splendor. His best guess was that everything in the house—the furnishings, the hangings—were at least a hundred years old, probably more, and the house itself seemed much older. Only the books were more recent. When he asked the Beast once where they came from, he replied, "They were brought here by others."

"What others?"

"Others who have accepted my hospitality," with an ironic twist in his voice.

Germond turned away muttering, "Poor devils."

He never knew where the food came from—he just knew that it was there, four times a day, spread out on the table, fresh and well-cooked and fit for a nobleman. Not that he ever had stomach to eat much.

At first, he avoided the Beast and would not speak to him, but eventually the grim loneliness of the house got to him and he was willing to accept almost any company. And, surprisingly, he found the Beast to be very good company indeed—if one looked past his hideous appearance. He could talk learnedly on almost any topic, and moved his conversation easily wherever Germond seemed to want it to go. He seemed especially interested in news of the world events, both current and past. Then, when he had questioned Germond to the limit of his political knowledge, he would subside into gloom and grim silence, and Germond wouldn't see him again for many hours.

One day, after more than a week had gone by, Germond sought the Beast out. "I can't stand this," he said. "I can't say here, I can't! My family must think me dead by now. It would be better if I was!" he added bitterly. "Rather than rot here. Is there no way out for me—no way at all?"

The Beast stood silent, his head turned away. At last he said, "There is a way."

"Thank heaven!" he gasped. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Because it is one you may not want to take… whose consequences may be more than you can bear."

"I can bear anything rather than this!" Silence. "Come on, what is it? Tell me!"

"The only way you can leave here is if someone—or something—takes your place."

The man frowned. "What do you mean?"

"When you reach your home, the first living thing you see—whether it be animal or man—must return here to take your place. If you do not chose to have this—creature—to take your place, then you must return yourself within thirty days and live out the rest of your natural life here."

"And if I don't?"

"If you don't… well, there is a curse on this place, and now it is on you. You will take it with you when you leave, and if you do not abide by its rules… then I do not think you will care for the consequences for you, or your family."

A chill ran over Germond. After a week in this enchanted place, he had no trouble believing the Beast's words. In his mind's eye he saw himself riding up the treed avenue to his home… he saw the house and the yard, and, as he drew near, from around the corner came running… his two favorite dogs. They came running to greet him before he ever reached the house, and behind them, servants and children, looking out of windows and immerging from doorways. He opened his eyes. "My dogs," he said. "My dogs are always the first living creatures I see when I go home. My dogs, one of them at least, can take my place."

The Beast bowed. "If that is your decision. But you must give me your word—your word, Alexander Germond, and I believe you to be an honest man—that you will not defy this curse—that you will return, either you or your replacement—within the month! Do you swear it?"

"I swear it," he promised eagerly. "But—how do I know that I can find this place again? I don't even know where it is."

"You will find it. Just as found it once, you will find it again. Do not doubt that."


	5. 4 The Beauty

_My thanks to those who have commented so far. I apologize for not managing individual responses-I'm still figuring this system out. Today we meet the beauty, and then the romance starts tomorrow. Thanks for reading! (And feel free to point out any typos you spot. I've been over this countless times, but somehow always still miss something.)_

**4. The Beauty**

Marianna had not always been beautiful. Growing up, she seemed the plain and awkward one in a family of handsome, blooming children. But, as sometimes happens in these cases, somehow, between the ages of sixteen and eighteen she blossomed. The curves she had long given up on developed; her sunburned skin cleared to a milky fineness, and she learned to move with grace. Her eyes had always been her greatest beauty—wide, very dark grey, mysterious eyes, thickly lashed and arresting. Her hair was what is today called strawberry blond—pale, half red, half gold. As a child it had seemed faded in comparison to the rich brunette locks of her sisters, but again, once she had stopped romping in the sun so much and learned to cover her head more, the color of it had somehow changed, deepened, and grown more lustrous. It hung past her waist, the bleached ends a pale, almost ashy gold, while that around her face was more vivid and reddish.

So it was that, at nineteen, Marianna Germond was not at all used to thinking of herself as a beauty. Nor was her family, for that matter, though even they couldn't help but see how much she had improved. But they were a beautiful family, generally, out-going and spirited, accustomed to admiration. After all, she was still just Mary, the middle child of a large family, the tomboyish, quiet one who would rather read a book in a tree than go to a party. She had had a few suitors come around in the last year, but had not been interested, and her parents being indulgent ones and very fond of her, no one pressured her to receive them. One daughter was married already, another engaged, and still another entertained endless beaus, so they were well content to keep her with them, an able help and willing babysitter for all the young ones. Certainly, she did not _seem_ the adventurous type.

When Marianna's father did not return home as expected, there was initially little alarm. He had been delayed, likely as not. But when Lianna had her baby and still there was no word for him, they became concerned. That mounted as the days went by, and still nothing. They sent word to the city—heard back that he had left long before. Now the alarm increased. Marianna's oldest brothers set out along the road to look for him, asking in every town and hamlet, expecting to find him gravely injured—or worse.

It was a full two weeks since he had first been missed, while her brothers were still out seeking word of him, that Marianna went wandering through the woods near their house. She was almost sick with anxiety for her father, to whom she was very close and, unable to sit still at home, she had come out here to walk off her nerves.

She had just turned back towards the house when she heard the distant whinny of a horse. Turning, she shaded her eyes, gazing down the lane. The horse was walking slowly, a man slumped low in the saddle. Even at this distance, there was no mistaking either the horse or the rider, for her. "Papa!" she cried, picking up her skirts and running. "Papa! Papa!"

The man lifted his head as she approached, but his reaction was not what she was expecting. Instead of smiling, he blanched, and drew back. "Mary! No!" he cried. "No, no!"

Slowing to a walk, panting, Marianna came along side of his horse. "Why do you say that, Papa?" she said anxiously. "What's wrong?" She saw that his face was drawn and pale, his clothes stained, and he swayed in the saddle. "You're sick!" she cried, reaching toward him.

He drew back and seemed like he would thrust her away. "No!" he murmured feebly. "It can't be you. It wasn't supposed to be you."

"You're raving, Papa," she said, and caught him as he half-slid out of the saddle. "Help!" she began to shout toward the house, desperately holding him. "Help! Someone help!"

For two and a half weeks he lay in a fever. The doctor came and said that he seemed to have sustained a nervous shock. "He doesn't appear to have been starved," he said, "although he was chilled and exhausted. Something is troubling him—something that made a simple cold develop into a rheumatic fever."

Marianna would have stayed with him and nursed him, but her mother banished her from the sick room because whenever her father saw her he became agitated. "He keeps saying, 'It was supposed to be Bong and Cad, not Mary,'" her mother said.

"Bong and Cad? The dogs?

"Yes. And he rambles on about a house, and a garden, and a… _beast_. Who knows what terrible thing must have happened to him out here?" She shuddered, wiping away tears, and her daughter put her arms around her for comfort.

When at last Mr. Germond opened his eyes and was himself again, he was very weak. At first he seemed content to look at his wife and be waited on. But when he heard what day it was, he struggled up, filled with alarm. "I have to go back!" he said urgently. "I have to go back now!"

"You're not going anywhere, Alex!" his wife told him. "Don't be ridiculous. Go back where?"

"Back to the house," he murmured, his voice dropping. "Back to _him_. I promised. I must go."

"No, Alex!" her voice grew stern. "You are not going anywhere in this state."

"But you don't understand. I must!" He grew so upset that she devoted herself to soothing him, and promised he would tell his story later, after he had rested some more.

So it was that afternoon, with his family around him, that Mr. Germond told his story, and of the fearful promise he had made to secure his freedom. As she listened, Marianna felt shivers running over her. She believed him. Somehow, incredibly, she believed every word he said. And looking around then, at the room that was so familiar, and her family she loved so well, it was as if they were strange to her—as if she didn't belong there any more. Rather, there swept over her a great longing to see the ancient house, and the wild garden; to hear the sweet, dreadful music for herself.

"I got lost in the forest again, coming out," he concluded his tale. "For days I tried to find my way out, but it was as if everything conspired to keep me back; to prevent my escape. Then, when finally we made it out, and home again—" his gaze turned to Marianna. "I wasn't supposed to be you," he repeated for the hundredth time. "It was never supposed to be you. That is why I have to go back."

"No." Suddenly Marianna felt very calm. She stood up, and took his hand. "No, what you told him was true. The family here needs you—all of them. You must stay. I'll go." The family members gasped.

"Marianna, I won't let you!" her father cried.

"You can't stop me," she answered back, smiling tenderly down at him. "Because you're not strong enough to travel, and there's no time to wait."

"But—"

He was cut off by his wife. "There is no way that I am going to allow you to go into that forest," she declared, "either of you. I don't believe in curses—unless it's the curse of overly gullible and superstitious men," she added, frowning at her husband. "Now, everyone out! Your father has to rest, and I'll hear no more of this until morning." She hustled everyone out. "As for _you_, young lady," she said to Marianna as she shut the door, "You father has been a very sick man. I'm surprised at you, for encouraging him like that."

"Mama, he hasn't lost his mind," replied Marianna. "And when did you ever know Papa to make anything up? He's the most honest, sensible person I know."

"Just the same, you can't go running off to any forests based of this wild tale of his. Giving yourself up for life! I never heard of such a thing." And with that the good woman turned and bustled away.

Marianna worked quickly. She packed only a small bag—one extra dress, a few essentials. Miniatures of her parents, and siblings. Then she sat down to write a letter. It read thus:

_Dear Mama, Papa, Hugo, Brianna, George, Adrian and Alanna,_

_I have gone to find the house in the forest and fulfill Papa's promise. I really do believe that what Papa told us is true, and I am sure he will say that I am right. I know that you will miss me, but not nearly as much as you would have missed Papa if he had been gone, and I feel very certain in myself that this is what I should do. In a strange way, I feel like this is what I have been destined for._

_Do not worry about me. I have taken plenty of food and water, and the compass Mama gave Hugo last Christmas, so that I will not get lost in the forest. You know I know how to travel well, and take care of myself outdoors. If I cannot, after all, find the house, or if nothing is there when I find it, then I will of course come back. If you do not see me again, please know that I love you all very much, and believe that I have gone very willingly to do this. I am not afraid._

_With all my love,_

_Marianna._

So with such provisions she rode quietly away from the house that night. There was no time to be lost, she knew, before the full thirty days would be up, and she feared that if she did not go tonight, she never would.

With her compass to guide her, she cut across country, staying away from the main roads where she knew her brothers would certain go seeking her. She knew the forest her father spoke of, and she knew the area quite well, having grown up there, and travelled often with him. Fortunately, the nights were already much more mild than they had been when her father passed through, and she slept soundly in her cloak on the ground, unmolested. In due time she found herself deep into trees, and it was there that she packed her compass up, and began to ride on in blind faith only. The Beast had said that she would find it. She could only trust to his word.


	6. 5 The Arrival

_Again, thanks for the reviews!_

**5. The Arrival**

It was late afternoon on the second day when she found it—the same high wall of ivy with a glint of iron beneath that her father had seen. Trembling slightly, she dismounted. There was the heavy iron ring beneath the leaves that he had spoken of. Grasping with both hands, she pulled hard, and it swung open silently. Leading her horse, she walked through.

It was all as he had described it. The dark, grand building just tumbling down in places—the riotous, beautiful gardens that grew around it. They were, if anything, more beautiful than they had been a month ago. Her heart beat faster at the sight of them, and something inside her seemed to sing for joy—but still she continued up the long pathway to the house. It drew her, cavernous and blighted, but still somehow compelling in its grandeur. Leaving her horse to graze the overgrown grass, she climbed the mossy and leaf-strewn steps to the tall front doors. They looked implacable and stern, but yielded quietly, as the gate had, to her touch.

"Hello?" Here was the great hall, with high vaulted ceiling, intricately carved and painted (though faded and dirty now), and the marble staircase at the far end. The timbers beneath her feet squeaked. She looked to her right, and saw the study where her father had spent his first night. She thought of him as she looked at it, her heart pounding within her, and her hands beginning to tremble. She had not been afraid, when she started, but now that she was here, the enormity of what she had done was hitting her.

"Hello?" she said again, and her voice echoed against the walls. She remembered how her father had been heard by a figure in the shadows, and raised her voice, forcing herself to speak firmly, and clasping her hands together. "My name is Marianna Germond. I have come in fulfillment of my father's promise. I was the living thing he first saw when he got home." The echo died out, and for a long time there was silence, as she stood there in the shadows by the door. Long shafts of afternoon light came in through high widows and struck the floor, setting myriads of dust particles dancing.

Finally, as she just about to move—as she took her first step—the Voice spoke to her. "Your father sent you in his stead?" it asked.

Quickly, her eyes found the cloaked figure standing in a particularly dark recess, not too far from her. "No," she answered, "He wanted to come himself, but he was too ill to travel, and besides—my family needs him. So I came."

She could not clearly see the figure in the shadows, but felt his eyes scrutinizing her. "Come into the light where I can see you," he said.

Gripping her hands together until they hurt, and thrusting her chin forward, she did so. Her hair had come undone during the long ride through the forest, and streamed in waves over her shoulders and down her back. As the sunshine hit it, it flamed out, gleaming and shining around her lithe young body like a sheath. Her dark, mysterious eyes flashed a little, while a vivid color rose to her cheeks.

From the shadows there came the sound of a quickly drawn breath, and the figure seemed to shrink back a little further.

When he at last spoke again, his voice was different—gentle and low. "What is your name, child?"

"Marianna Germond—sir."

"And you are Alexander Germond's daughter?"

"Yes, sir."

"Marianna." He spoke the name as a whisper. "How old are you?"

"I am nineteen, sir."

"Nineteen." Then his voice changed again, became rough. "So, Marianna, you've come here to live with the Beast in atonement for your father's wrong?"

"I—I suppose so."

"And do you understand what it is that you have undertaken to do?"

"I think so."

"Well, you will soon enough." He drew back even further. "You have the freedom of the house and grounds. There is a room prepared for you, upstairs, on the right. The door is open. I hope it will suit you."

"But aren't you going to—" but he was, she realized, already gone. How he had gone was as mysterious as how he had come.

Left alone, Marianna, slowly trod the length of the great hall. Slowly she mounted the staircase, running her hand along the chipped and stained balustrade. To her right a long hallway stretched, the walls cracked and cobwebby. She picked her way gingerly past closed doors, until at last she came to an open one.

The room was clearly meant for a woman. The aged furnishings were yet distinctively feminine in style; the faded hangings had once been decorated with brightly colored flowers and birds. And although everything was as worn and threadbare as in the rest of the house, here there was a difference: it was all clean. It was all very clean. She walked across to the window, and pulled back the curtains. Below her, the garden lay spread out in all its glory. Near the window sat a dressing table, with a yellowed but highly polished mirror. Spread out on the table were combs and bushes with intricately carved silver backs. She picked one up, feeling it in her hand wonderingly. _It's as if he knew I was coming,_ she thought.


	7. 6 The Meeting

**6. The Meeting**

The next few days passed quietly, dreamily. She roamed in the gardens by day and the house by night. She ate the food that appeared four times a day in the little room off the terrace. But she did not see (if indeed, she could have been said to have seen him) the Beast again. She had assumed, based on what her father said, that she would be spending much of her time with him, but this apparently was not to be the case. Sometimes, indeed, while she was pacing a long room or blooming garden path, she would feel like she was being watched, and, looking up, would see a shadow at a window or in the corner—a shadow that always vanished immediately. She wondered why he was so much more reticent with her than with her father—and why he never played his music during the day. Only at night sometimes she would awaken to hear the haunting, exquisite strains from outside her window, and, sitting by the sill, would listen for hours until they lulled her back to sleep.

She never saw anyone else there either, but whether it was the Beast himself who did it all, or some other unseen agent, somehow things got done: the food, the fires, the hot water that appeared by her door every morning and evening. The morning after her coming, a bouquet of roses had also appeared. She placed it on her dresser. She wanted to thank him, but never got the chance. How long would this go on, she wondered?

The turning point came one afternoon when she was exploring a great gallery that ran the whole length of the house. The house itself absolutely fascinated her, and this room especially, because of the portraits that lined both walls. They were magnificent—cobwebby, but magnificent. No names appeared on them, but that many of their subjects were related was clear—her eyes easily picked out the common features: noses and chins and eyes that reoccurred from one generation to another. She could trace their chronology by their clothes, and the style of the portrait. The oldest seemed to date back many centuries. When she had worked her way down to the most recent—even they were at least a hundred years old—she was intrigued to discover an empty spot on one wall, where it looked as if a painting had once hung—although a very long time ago now, judging by the grime on the wall.

It was while she was contemplating this enigma that she had again that sudden sense of being watched. Turning quickly, she saw a cloaked figure moving swiftly away. "Oh, stop, please!" she cried. "Don't go away!" The creature froze, but did not turn.

"I've been meaning to thank you for the services you've done me," she began brightly stepping hesitantly forward. "The wonderful meals, and hot water and—"

"Is that all?" His voice sounded hard.

"All?" she faltered.

"Is that all you want of me—to thank me for some trivial services as anyone could do?"

"Of course not!" she cried, stung. "I want to _talk_ to you. I know my father talked to you, and he said you were very polite and even kind in a way. He told me what you are—I'm not afraid. But—"

"Why?" he asked unexpectedly.

"Why what?"

"Why aren't you afraid of me?" He managed to sound slightly menacing.

"Well.. you haven't given me any reason to be," she said reasonably. "And you treated my father well, as I said. He seemed to think that you were almost as much a victim of this—this curse—as he was. I didn't think when I came here that I would be completely alone; I thought I would have you, at least, to talk to."

He paused, and then shook his head and started to walk away again. "Please!" she cried out desperately. "I don't want to spend my life alone!"

Again he stopped, and spoke harshly. "No one wants to spend their life alone," he said.

"Well then, since I am here, why can't we be companions to each other?"

"Companions?" He turned his head towards her, face still shadowed by his hood.

"Yes," she insisted. "Why not?"

"You would take a beast as a companion?"

"If he's kind to me."

"Will I be kind to you?"

"If you please, sir."

That last disarming answer seemed to decide him, for said softly, "Then I will try, Marianna," and turned around slowly, pulling his hood down.

Marianna's heart was pounding, and as he began she clasped her hands together tightly, willing herself to remain stoic.

And she saw his face finally, and to her surprise she felt a sense of relief. She had spent so long imagining what he might look like, and building up ideas of his fearsomeness and ugliness, that inevitably the reality failed, in comparison, to horrify her. It was indeed a fearsome face, and ugly enough mounted such a nearly human form, but his eyes were clear and intelligent and—and sad. For a moment she stood there staring, pondering the strangeness of those very human eyes in such a bestial face, and that cultured voice from such a throat.

The features twisted, and grimaced. "Well, Marianna," said that voice that hardly seemed to be from him, "am I as hideous as you imagined me?"

"No sir," she answered truthfully.

Slowly, he extended one hairy, clawed hand toward her. She took it, and shivered slightly at its touch, but did not draw back. They stayed thus, awkwardly shy, for several moments, then Marianna on impulse said, "I wish—"

"Yes?"

"I wish that you would tell me—"

"What?" The word came out sharply, and he drew back his hand.

"—about these paintings," she continued. "I think they're wonderful, but I haven't any idea who they are. I would love to know about them."

"They belong," he answered her in a gentler tone, "to an ancient family that has long since died out. I do not think their stories would interest you."

She wanted to protest, but could not summon the courage. The Beast looked like he was about to leave again, so she said quickly, "Would you play your harp for me some time? I hear you at night in the garden. It's so beautiful."

An expression that could have been pleasure crossed his face. "Perhaps—perhaps after dinner then," he said, "if you'll have it with me," and turned quickly to go.

"What time?" Marianna called after him.

"Seven," he replied over his shoulder, "In the dining room." And then he was gone.

Marianna let her breath out slowly. She felt excited and nervous—exhilarated, almost. The much anticipated first meeting had finally taken place and there would be another. This strange creature represented a mystery—one she hoped very much to unravel.


	8. 7 The Dinner

**7. The Dinner**

That evening when Marianna entered her room to start getting ready for dinner, she found a bathtub sitting by a lit fire, with jugs of hot and cold water standing by. She grimaced ruefully as she glanced down at herself, wondering if that was meant to be a hint. With a happy sigh she undressed, readied the bath, and sank into it. Certainly she was delighted to be given the opportunity.

When she got out, Marianna looked uncertainly at the two dresses she had brought from home with her. Besides the fact that neither of them had been washed recently, they just seemed… _inadequate_ for a place like this, especially a formal dinner (as she felt this to be). Crossing the room to a large wardrobe that sat against the wall, she opened it. She had never looked inside it before, but was delighted to find that it was filled to overflowing with gowns. They were very old fashioned, archaic even, but beautiful. Made of stiff brocades, velvets and silks, with yards and yards of fabric, richly laced and ornamented by fine lace and intricate embroidery, they were unlike anything she had ever worn, or dreamed of wearing, and yet—she glanced back at the plain dress laying on her bed—here they seemed fit. She began to pull them out, one by one, studying them. They looked as if they would fit her. Finally she chose one, the simplest gown of the collection, green, with gold laces across the bodice, and long sleeves that fell away at her elbows. The gold color was a little tarnished, and the velvet a little worn, but really it was in astonishingly good shape considering the state everything else was in.

She had some trouble figuring out how to put it on, but eventually got everything in place as it was supposed to be (she hoped), and sat down at the dressing table to brush her hair. Sitting there before the mirror, in that room and in that dress, she felt different—as if she had stepped back in time; as if she was different. She braided a portion of her hair and wound the braids around her head like a crown, leaving the rest to stream down her back. Looking in the mirror, she had to admit she looked well: a delicate color was in her milky cheeks, and her deep grey eyes shone. But something was missing—some ornament. Looking around she saw the vase of roses—white roses, blooming and fragrant. Picking one exquisite, half-open blossom, she tucked it securely into her coronet of hair. _Well, _she thought_, that will have to do_.

Alone she slowly descended the grand old stairway, and paced through the shadowy hall. She knew where the dining room was already from her explorations and it did not surprise her to see the warm glow of firelight coming from it.

Pausing at the doorway, she surveyed the room. The long table was already set, with food spread over it, and china and crystal. He was there, too, standing by the fireplace, one arm leaning on the mantle, his eyes on the flames. Looking at him, Mariana was struck once again by the incongruity of his seeming man-beast mixture.

He wore a suit of clothes from the same time as her dress, very fine, but ill-fitting, as if cut for someone else entirely. They did not sit well on his animal-like form—but his stance was uniquely human.

As if sensing her gaze, he glanced up, casually at first, and then again, quickly this time, and stared. She blushed slightly, suddenly very self-conscious. "I'm sorry, I found it in my room," she said. "I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not," he said. "You may use anything you want in this house." Then he stretched out one hand towards her, and gestured to the table with the other. "Would you care to dine, my lady?" he asked with a bow.

Marianna had good cause to appreciate the courtliness of his manners that night. He served her himself, and when they were settled and began to eat he asked her, "You told me that your father was sick. It wasn't serious, I trust?"

"I don't believe so," she replied. "He was recovering when I left—but it had been two weeks since he first came home, and he had been unable to tell his story." She described how her father got lost coming out, and how she had been the first to see him when he came.

"So that's how that happened," he murmured. "I had wondered. He seemed so positive that one of his dogs would be first."

"Ordinarily he would be right. They always run when they hear his horse—only this time it was me."

"This time it was you," he echoed softly, staring across the table at her with glowing eyes. "Are you sorry, Marianna?"

She flushed at the sudden question, her eyes falling before his, and he threw up his hand. "Don't answer that," he said. "I shouldn't have asked. Forgive me, please."

When dinner was over he took her to a sitting room where another fire was laid, and played for her. His furred and clawed hand looked like they should be awkward plucking the strings of a small harp, but they moved with skill and grace. The music made her want to laugh and weep at the same time and she wanted it go on forever, but all too soon he laid it down. Then they both stared at the dancing flames for several minutes. "Tell me of your childhood," he said finally. "Please. I want to hear a story of happy times—it has been so long since I heard any, or knew any myself."

So she told him. She told him of her father and mother and the house where they lived. She told him of her many siblings, and the games they had played as children; of the antics her little brothers got into, and her sister Brianna's endless stream of boyfriends. As she did so, the Beast's face slowly relaxed, and his eyes lost, for a time, their haunted look. Only once did he interrupt her, when she began to describe her older sisters by telling him, "They're the really beautiful ones—"

"_They're_ the beautiful ones?" he asked with some astonishment.

"Why yes," she replied innocently. "I always wanted to look like them, especially Alanna." Then something in the quality of his gaze made her blush again. "I know I'm a lot better looking than I used to be, but if you saw them you'd realize that I'm not really much in comparison." He didn't reply so she went on again, weaving a story of her family and their home life. When at last she fell silent the fires had burnt down to a great glowing bed of embers.

After several long moments, he sighed and stirred. Looking up he saw her watching him, and smiled (or she thought he smiled). "What do you want?" he asked her—and it was not as if was demanding an explanation, but rather offering a gift.

"Well," she said slowly, "I have so many questions—about this house, and about you, and the food, and the magic."

"No." The world was harsh and uncompromising and the old fierceness and melancholy settled back on him.

"But only if you could…."

"I can't tell you. I can't tell you, and you mustn't ask. But only this: something terrible happened here, a long time ago—something that sprang from one heartless act—and ever since then there has been a curse on this place, and a curse on me." He transferred his gaze gloomily back to the coals. "I am accursed," he whispered, "and I have suffered more bitterly than death itself."

Marianna set silent, tears standing in her eyes. He looked back at her, and his expression softened somewhat. "I pray that the day will never come that you count yourself accursed on my behalf, Marianna," he said. "If you don't already, that is. I am sorry that you and your father were dragged into this. I would have prevented it if I could."

"I know," she whispered, and stretched out her hand to him in comfort. Hesitantly, he took it, and they sat that way together in silence until all the embers died out.


	9. 8 The Friend

**8. The Friend**

That was the beginning. Throughout the rest of that spring, and the golden summer months that followed, Marianna and her Beast walked and talked and ate together for many hours each day. At first he seemed hesitant to intrude on her much, but soon Marianna came to expect him as he waited for her every morning in the breakfast room, or sometimes even at the foot of the stairs, to watch her make her morning walk down. She had taken to wearing the dresses in her wardrobes daily, after that night. They were a little heavy and cumbersome, at first, but they just seemed to fit here, and she took an enjoyment in them that she had never really had from the pretty clothes at home. Then, with further exploration, she found some summer gowns, folded carefully in a deep cedar chest, in layer within layer of tissue paper. How they had escaped the ravages of time she knew not, but they had for the most part. The lace was a little yellowed, and they smelled musty until she took them all outside to air, but the colors remained bright and unfaded, and the fabric untouched by moths. She felt like they were a gift to her, from across time, and wore them with glee.

As the days went by, Marianna noticed that the Beast seemed to grow progressively gentler, and happier, and somehow younger. He began to laugh—at first occasionally, and then often, and he walked more upright, with a lighter step, and the sadness was not often in his eyes. Soon, she forgot that the Beast was a beast at all, remembered only that he was her Friend.

The name came about one morning soon after their initial dinner together. They were walking together in the garden when she suddenly asked, "What do I call you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What can I call you? You won't tell me any name, but I must have something I can call you by."

He considered deeply, his head bent low. "As you say. I have no name—now. But if you would like to call me something, then may call me your Friend."

"Friend." She tried it out doubtfully. "Is that all?"

"That is all."

"Well then, I suppose it will do."

And Friend he remained.

One day he came to her, bringing a large box covered in wine-colored velvet. Inside were jewels of the sort Marianna had only heard about: earrings and necklaces and bracelets and even one coronet, intricately worked in gold and silver, and encrusted with jewels of many kinds. She gasped when she saw them.

"Oh, I could not!" she cried. "They're—exquisite," she reached out a hand as if to touch them, and then drew it back, "but I could not. They don't belong to me."

"They belong to me," he replied. "And I want to give them to you."

"But—I couldn't."

"Please," he said softly, insistently. "I want to give you something, and this is little enough for all that you have given up for me. They need cleaning," he added, "but I think I can find something for that, if you want to do it. It would… it would give me pleasure to see you wear them."

There was nothing she could do but accept. She took them in her hands wonderingly. "Where did they come from?" she asked.

"They—they once belonged to a very great lady," he replied. "But she has not had need of them for many years. They are mine indeed," he added, as she sent him a questioning glance. "I came by them honestly, and you need feel no guilt about taking them."

She carried them back to her room, and true to her word, he produced a small jar of some cleaning substance, and with that and old rags, she soon polished them into shining splendor again, and wore them to dinner in the evenings, feeling more than ever like some princess out of a fairy tale.

In her explorations around the old house, Marianna penetrated deeper and deeper into its lower levels. She found the large deserted kitchens, where obviously nothing had been cooked for a long time, and a rabbit's warren of pantries and storage rooms, mostly empty or filled with discarded trash. Only the wine cellar seemed complete, and covered in a thick, undisturbed layer of dust. Where then did the wine so often at their table come from? She knew there would be no answer to that, either.

It was with great satisfaction that she finally discovered the cleaning supplies. They were filthy themselves, of course, but at least intact, and surely soap didn't go bad. The fact was, Marianna had the cleaning bug. She had already began to throw back the long drapes, letting light into many rooms that hadn't seen it in years. She opened windows and doors, bringing in fresh air. But the problem with light was that it showed all the dirt and dust, and having been raised in a clean house by a meticulous housekeeper, she could not feel satisfied until she had done something about it.

There was one room in particular that she loved—a little sitting room, or parlor, that opened right out into the roses. It had been beautiful once, and she was determined to make it that way again. Dressed in her old travelling frock and with a scrap of fabric around her hair, she fetched a bucket of water from the stream outside, and set to work.

It was while she was scrubbing away at the floor, humming softly to herself, that the Beast discovered her. She jumped at the sound of his voice, resounding with an angry growl around the room. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

She looked up and stared, drawing back. "I—I'm—" she stammered.

He strode into the room, and grasped her by the forearm, pulling her to her feet. "Do you think I brought you here to work and clean for me?" he demanded.

"No, of course no, but—"

"Well I didn't!" he snapped. "Stop it immediately! I won't have you doing such things." And he turned to leave.

Drawing her arm back, tears in starting in her eyes, Marianna began to turn away too, and then suddenly her eyes flashed and she threw her shoulders back. "You can't tell me what to do!" she snapped.

He stopped and turned back, astonishment on his face. "What?"

"You told me I could do whatever I wanted here, and I could have whatever I wanted, and I want this room, but I can't use it when it's filthy like this, and besides, I wanted to clean it, I like having something to do—just sitting around and looking pretty gets boring sometimes, you know. So what if I decided to scrub the floor?" she flung at him. "Does that mean I'm not good enough to eat fancy dinners with you any more?"

As she spoke, the look of anger faded from his eyes, to be replaced by remorse and laughter. He held up his hand. "Truce!" he cried. "I didn't mean that. You know I didn't mean that. I just—I don't want you to think that you have to work for your keep."

"Well, I don't," she replied, a little stiffly, nodding her head, and then a reluctant twinkle appeared in response to him. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to put up with all this dust just to please you."

He looked around the room. "I'm sorry. I should have thought of that. I've just—grown used to it, I guess. No one's cleaned these rooms for a very long time."

"My room was clean," she offered softly.

"Well that—that was another matter." Then his eyes shifted to her arm, which she still cradled in the other. "Did I hurt you?" His voice sharpened again in sudden concern.

She looked down at it, and let go, stretching it out. "Not much," she murmured.

He came back to her, taking her hand softly between his two hairy ones. She saw, with surprise, the sparkle of tears in his eyes. "How can I apologize to you?" he asked softly.

"It's all right." She reached out her hand to touch his cheek comfortingly, and he closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Then he opened them, looked into the smoky depths of hers for a moment, and was gone.

From then on Marianna was allowed to clean to her heart's content, and although the great mansion was much too large for one little woman, bit by bit its rooms began to grow brighter and fresher, and now at last laughter echoed against its walls again.


	10. 9 The Dream

**9. The Dream**

Something else happened to Marianna over the spring and summer, something that she did not speak to her new Friend about. She began to have dreams—not the sort of ordinary, mixed up, unpredictable dreams she usually had, but repeated ones, over and over again, and very real and vivid they were.

They had started, she thought, the night of her first dinner with the Beast, although perhaps even before then, in little glimpses, on those nights she fell asleep listening to the music. As the months went by they seemed to grow more frequent and real, and when she went to sleep at night she didn't know if she hoped for or dreaded them.

She dreamed about a man. A young man, and handsome, with thick brown hair that curled around his neck and fell over his brow, and laughing brown eyes. He was tall and strong and full of a vitality that seemed so real that when she woke up she could at first scarcely realize that it was only a dream. In her dreams, they were at the house, but not fallen down and decayed as now, but rather bright and new—the way it should have been, the way it had once been, she felt sure. The gardens outside were manicured, and the gates stood wide open, leading to orchards and parks and boulevards beyond. She and the mysterious man rode together, walked together, danced together in the ball room. They talked of a thousand things and laughed a thousand laughs. Then every dream, as her sleep grew lighter, he would take her hands in his and look pleadingly into her eyes with his own—his eyes—what was it about his eyes that seemed so familiar?—and whisper, "Stay with me, Marianna."

"I want to stay," she would tell him, as the dream began to fade and she began to wake up. "I want to stay, but I can't… I can't." And then she would immerge into a foggy wakefulness and lie there wondering what had happened until full awareness came back to her.

As the summer progressed the ending of the dream changed a little, so that now the man came and took her in his arms; and she longed to be in his arms. Always she would hope he would kiss her; would wait trembling for the moment, but just as he drew her close, it would begin to fade, and she would hear his voice again, urgently saying, "Why do you leave me, Marianna? Why won't you love me?" And just as she slipped into consciousness she would hear her own voice whispering back, "But I do…."

Needless to say she did not discuss them with her Friend, although sometimes she had the impulse to do so—to ask him if he thought that they might be a part of whatever enchantment possessed the place. But she knew without being told that the subject would be sure to pain him immensely, so she said nothing. Instead, getting up in the morning after a particularly vivid night time encounter, she would give herself a shake and say, "It's just a dream, Marianna! Forget about it!"

"It's this house," she muttered to herself on more than one occasion, while getting dressed in the morning. "It's my fascination with this house that makes me want to see what it was like in its heyday, and so my imagination is supplying that, that's all. Instead of day dreaming it I'm night dreaming it."

As for the nameless young man… she smiled to herself. "Just wishful thinking, I guess," she decided.


	11. 10 The Proposal

**10. The Proposal**

One pleasant afternoon late in the summer, Marianna and her Friend sat together in the shade of an old oak tree that spread its benevolent branches over much of the south lawn. The lawn itself, of course, was very overgrown, but she didn't care about that. It had been claimed by wildflowers, and she loved wildflowers. She had taken off her shoes to wade through the long grass, and that was where the Beast had found her, and they fell to talking.

They had been talking about—oh, nothing really—little, inconsequential things, with the casual ease of close friends who need very little to make a good conversation, and no little laughter. Marianna leaned back against the broad trunk, and sighed deeply, looking out over the field. She made a remarkably pretty picture as she sat there amid the flowers, her face flushed with happiness, her smoky-blue gown intensifying her eyes and her skin, while rosy bare toes, a little grass stained, peeped out from under its hem. A silver net she had found bound the thick coils of her hair, but a breeze was the stirring little wisps about her face. It is perhaps not surprising that the man within the Beast lost his head a little.

When his hand first touched hers, she did not react, thinking little of it, but then she heard her named whispered, and turned her head slightly, and realized that he was bending over her, closer and closer, his eyes burning with purpose. _He's going to kiss me,_ she thought with shock. Although she was unable to tell what she thought about this, inadvertently her head jerked back, her eyes widening in alarm. The movement was slight, but it was enough to bring him to his senses. He pulled back and sprang to his feet, taking his furry head between his hands. His mouth opened and closed again. "Forgive me," he finally got out, and then turned and almost ran back toward the house.

Marianna watched him go, pity churning her heart. Oh, that she could have given him the kiss that he so much wanted! She would have—with all her heart, for the affection and gratitude that she bore for him—but how was such a thing even possible? How could one even kiss a mouth like his? Then she felt angry at herself for thinking such things, for not yet being above considering his appearance. Hadn't she decided that such things did not matter between them? But—in her deepest heart of hearts she knew that they _did_ matter. Oh, not in friendship, but in other things. Other more precious things. He was not, in the last analysis, a man. What he was or where he came from she had long since given up trying to figure out, but she did feel sure that as a woman, she could give her heart only to a flesh-and-blood _man._

The happiness had gone from the day after that. She made her way back to the house, and upstairs, where she sat by her window with a book but did not read. Her thoughts and emotions were so mixed up, and her concern for her Friend so real, that even when it came time to go down to dinner she had not yet sorted it out.

She wondered if he would even be there that night, but he was. Their greeting was awkward and constrained, and they ate mostly in silence. Trying to put him at ease, Marianna several times tried to start some strain of conversation, but his answers were monosyllabic. Finally she gave up. _I'll ask him to play after supper_, she thought. _That should shake him out of it._

But when she made her request in the sitting room later, he shook his head. "Not tonight," he said. "I have—I have something I want to talk to you about."

Worry gripped her heart, but she looked at him calmly enough, questioningly.

He stood up abruptly, and began to stride around the room as if too full of nervous energy to contain himself. For several minutes there was silence, and she sat in her chair with her hands folded, waiting. Finally, he turned to her and asked, "Have you been happy here with me, Marianna?"

She flushed a little. "You know I have," she answered steadily.

That seemed to please him, but he went back to pacing. "Are you…" a long pause, "are you happy enough to want to stay here with me?"

She looked at him in confusion. "Of course I'm going to stay here with you," she said. "That's the whole point, isn't it?"

"No," he said impatiently. "I mean—"

"Yes?"

"If—If you didn't have to stay, if you could choose to stay or go, would you be willing—would you want to stay with me anyway?"

Her confusion increased. "I don't understand. What is it that you are trying to ask me, my Friend?"

For once the title did not seem to please him and he turned his head away, as he always did when speaking of his own emotions. "If you didn't realize before that I love you I'm sure you do now," he said. "It seems impossible to me that every man you've ever met hasn't fallen in love with you." A great crimson wave broke over Marianna's face, and she reached out her hands as if to stop him, but he continued heedlessly. "I know I'm only a miserable beast," he said, his cultured voice grown rough with emotion, "but I have a heart as true as any man's, and it will always be yours." He forced himself to face her, and took her hands gently, going down on his knees at her feet. "Marianna," he whispered desperately, "sweet Marianna, please will you marry me?"

Then the blush receded, and her face grew pale, and she shut her eyes, trembling. He let go of her hands, stood up and walked away quickly. For a few moments he stared pointlessly at the darkened window, and then said, in a carefully controlled voice, "It's all right, you don't have to say anything. Your face has answered for you."

Marianna put her hands to her face as the tears began to slide helplessly out from under her eyelids, and her whole body shook with suppressed sobs. She must of made a pitiful sight, because a few minutes later she heard him say, in a very gentle and much more natural tone, "Don't cry, my darling, not for my sake. I don't ever want to make you cry." She took her hands from her face and accepted the handkerchief he brought her, wiping them away rather futilely.

"I'm sorry," she managed to whisper.

"Don't be. It was unfair of me to put you in such a position. And I wasn't really expecting, you know—just hoping."

Staring at the sodden bit of cloth in her hand, she said, "I wish… I wish—"

He cut her off. "Let's not wish anymore tonight. I've had had all I can take, I think." She hesitantly raised her gaze to him at last. He met her eyes for a moment, then turned away. "I'm going to bed," he said, sounding very tired. "Tomorrow we'll pretend this never happened."

That night, when at last she fell asleep, she dreamed that the man came to her, and pled with her, asking her to marry him, asking her why she was breaking his heart. Now it was not only his eyes that haunted her, but his voice, too. Even there, in dream world, she could do little but cry.


	12. 11 The Portrait

**11. The Portrait**

It took a little time for their relationship to return to normal after his proposal. He tried and she tried to act the same, but still it hung between them. Finally they both discovered that rather than pretending it had never happened, the better thing was to acknowledge that it had. The Beast would not retract his profession of love, but she found that she could accept it and go on, even as he accepted her refusal. After all, what else could they do? They had no one else but each other, and they had grown too dear of friends to be happy apart for long.

So another month or two passed, and fall began to set in. Marianna was sorry to see the summer flowers go from the garden, but autumn had its own beauties. The old house grew cold quickly, but they kept fires burning in many rooms, and her seemingly bottomless wardrobe yielded fur coats and woolen undergarments that kept her warm even on cool nights.

One day when the wind was blowing hard outside, she went back again to pace the long gallery and stare at the pictures. Her curiosity was still unsatisfied where they were concerned; she had tried to pry a little information out of the Beast at times, but he always laughed and put her off. Still she walked, and studied each face in its turn, wondering at the stories behind them.

Near the end of the gallery she stopped before the portrait of a middle-aged woman, still regal and beautiful. Her eyes roamed over it, taking in every detail. There in the background was the mantle from the small sitting room in the east wing—it was no surprise that it had been painted here. Surely she must have lived here once. Her clothing was rich and beautiful, not unlike Marianna's own gowns she wore now, and there… Marianna stopped and looked more closely. Yes, she was certain. There reposing on her breast was a necklace of emeralds that she herself had worn.

With sudden awareness now, she started back, looking at every woman's jewels, searching for more of hers in them. She found two other familiar items—a ruby broach, and a pair of pearl earrings.

Well! Marianna sat down on an accommodating bench to think. She remembered her Friend's words to her when he brought her the jewelry: "They once belonged to a very great lady." Several very great ladies, from what she saw here. They were family jewels, ancestral jewels, just like this was an ancestral home. And they were both in the possession of her Beast. "I came by them honestly," he told her. She believed him, but—but—_how_? What was he doing here? How had he come here? What was his relationship to the family depicted on these walls, and how had their possessions fallen into his hands, and then been cursed? Did the curse come before or after? Maybe the house had been cursed, and then he came here and was cursed because of it, like her father had been. How long had he been here, anyway? How old was he? Shivers went up and down her spine as she contemplated these things. The word _enchantment_ lay heavy on her.

Yet, there was something here, something she was missing, she felt sure of that—some key to the puzzle that would make it all clear. What was it that she couldn't see? It was probably really obvious, she thought, but still it eluded her.

Finally abandoning attempts to sort it out as hopeless, she transferred her attention back to the place of the missing portrait. She knew one had been here because the brackets in the walls to hang it were still there. No one would put those up until they actually had something to hang, right? So where was it? She couldn't say why it interested her so, but it did. There was, after all, little else to occupy one around here sometimes.

Suddenly she thought of the storerooms downstairs, cluttered with this and that. It seemed a long shot, but if she was to go looking for the picture, surely that was as good a place to start as any.

She had not seen the Beast since breakfast. In fact, the last few days he had seemed to be drawing away from her a little, retreating back into his shadowy shell. _Perhaps it was the weather change that triggered it_, she thought, _or maybe he's getting bored with my company after all_. Either way, she wasn't going to push him. They had plenty of time to come when they could be together. In the mean time, she had some freedom.

She set to work without delay. The downstairs cellars were dark and dusty, but she changed her clothes and lit lamps, and started sorting. It was mostly junk, she found, although a fascinating relic or two showed up—some ancient bit of machinery, or the missing serving bowl to the china set in the breakfast room. Her interest in the project remained high through the first storeroom, and the second, but by the time she came to her fourth, she gazed around a little drearily, and looked down at her dirty dress and hands. _I must look a fright_, she thought. _However will I ask for some extra hot water for a bath when I don't really even want to tell him what I've been doing? _Instinctively she felt he might not approve of her quest.

With little enthusiasm she poked around the room, glancing at this or that, but not expecting much. With a sigh, she turned away. She no longer could remember why she had felt so strongly about this anyway.

As she passed the wine cellar, she thought of her father, and his love for fine wine. He had not seen it while he was here, she felt sure. How excited he would be if he could! Perhaps he could even find a few of those rare bottles he was always talking about.

On the impulse of the moment she turned into the room, climbing down a few steps, and began to peruse the dusty bottles. But she soon had to acknowledge to herself that she had no real idea where to look, or even what she looking for. But the dark , low-ceilinged room was rather maze-like, and it took her a few minutes to find her way out again. She ran straight smack into one wall, realized where her error was, and was about to turn back, when the light of her lamp glanced off of something, and she turned her head.

It was definitely not a wine bottle, or a rack. In fact, it was propped up against the wall half-way behind a rack that looked like it had been moved. It was flat and rectangular, and it was... the shape of a painting.

Excitement surged through her. It was the right shape all right, and just the right size for the large portraits that hung in the gallery. Although it faced the wall and was covered, she could see the curve of the frame.

The cellar was too dark, so she dragged it out, huffing, to the kitchen, where at least she could get some light through the windows. It was heavy, but she managed to get it up onto the table. It had been carefully wrapped in a heavy cloth—a tablecloth, perhaps. Awkwardly, and with great excitement, she managed to take off the wrappings, and held her lamp up eagerly to gaze on the painted countenance.

It was the man in her dreams.

Marianna gasped and fell back, dropping her lamp. After a moment she recovered herself, picked it up again, and bent forward. _Surely she had been mistaken._

No, there he was—the face she had seen so often: the same jaw, the same nose, the same sensitive mouth, and those warm, compelling eyes—what _was_ it about those eyes? Even the way his hair fell over his forehead, the way he was dressed, and carried himself—it all matched.

_It can't be_, she thought in unbelief. _My_ _brain is playing tricks on me._

It was. Even as she tried to argue with herself, tried to convince herself that dreams are so vague, and she didn't really remember what the man in them had looked like, she knew it was untrue.

_Maybe I saw another painting of him somewhere else_, she thought, _and I've forgotten about it. _But as she thought about it she knew that excuse would never do either. If there was such a painting in this house, she would have noticed it long ago.

If chills had run over her before, now they fairly possessed her. For several minutes she sat on the rickety old stool in the kitchen and shivered, staring at the painting before her in mingled fascination and horror. Was it a ghost that was haunting her dreams, then? Again the word _enchantment_ sprang to mind, increasing her sense of horror.

Finally she was able to gather her thoughts well enough to move. She must speak to the Beast about this. He might be upset, she knew, but she had to ask. Perhaps finally he would tell her something.

But there were things to do first. Somehow she managed the lug the heavy painting up the stairs. She left it in a small antechamber, turned against the wall again. Then she went up to her room to clean up and try to make herself presentable. She would need all of her beauty and charm that night to persuade him.


	13. 12 The Flight

**12. The Flight**

Dinner that night was a poor affair. Both creatures were distracted and withdrawn; despite Marianna's resolve to be charming, she found she neither ate much or talked much. And the Beast didn't have much to say either, but was content to watch her with smoldering eyes.

When it became clear that neither of them were going to eat any more, she finally decided to plunge in. "I found something today," she began brightly. He looked at her silently. "I was poking around the wine cellar, actually. My father used to talk about certain kinds of wine he wished he could have, so that I thought I would see if I could find any—but when I got there I found I couldn't remember their names anyway. I was about to leave, when I noticed something leaning against the wall, and thought I would bring it out and look at it." She paused. He was still listening courteously, but without signs of real interest. "You don't mind, do you?"

He turned his gaze towards the fire. "No, why should I?"

"Oh, no reason, but I wanted to be sure." She paused. "I thought it was very interesting. I thought you might like to come see it."

At that his eyes moved back to her, a sudden look of curiosity in them. "What's going on here, Marianna?" he asked her.

"What do you mean?"

"Something's happened—something having to do with the thing you found, hasn't it? What was it?"

She stood up. "I think you'd better come see for yourself."

"Why?" he insisted. "Why should I want to see this more than any other relict in this old place?"

For a moment her heart quailed. "Just come, will you?" she pleaded. "I'll explain when we get there."

Throwing his napkin aside, he shrugged and stood up. "Very well."

She led the way through the dark hall to the little antechamber where she had left it. His footfall sounded heavy behind her. Once they got there, she moved forward quickly, before she could change her mind, and grasped the heavy frame. "Do you remember that empty space in the gallery, the one I was always so curious about? Well, you're never going to believe this, but I think I found the picture that used to hang there."

"_What?_" He almost roared the word, and she jumped.

"You said you didn't mind," she reminded him defensively. "You said I could do as I pleased. And I want to know about it," she continued, almost begging now, and turned the painting to face him. "Please! I want to know about _him_."

For a long moment he stared at the painted face with candlelight dancing over it. Then when he looked up at her Marianna saw, for the first time ever, a look of pure rage on his animal features.

"_Him?_" he cried, "You want to know about _him_?" In a single movement he grabbed the picture away from her, and threw it against the wall with such force that the frame splintered. Despite herself, she cried out in alarm at the sight. Then turning on her vengefully, the Beast—and for the first time in a very long time she thought the word _Beast_ suited him—backed her into a corner.

"Why couldn't you leave well enough alone?" he demanded. "Why do you always have to go prying, pushing, asking questions I can't answer, digging up the past?" Tears sprang to Marianna's eyes, and she pressed herself against the wall behind her. "Haven't I suffered enough without you adding to it?" the creature moaned. "Haven't I been cursed enough without having you—_you _bring _that _ into my presence?"

He took a few impatient steps around the room, pausing to stare a moment longer at the broken portrait. "You want to know about him?" he said on a growl, turning back to the trembling girl in the corner. "Then I'll tell you about him! _He_," he spat the word out with bitter emphasis, "_he_ was a selfish, foolish, vain man! He was heartless and heedless, and it's because of him that I am the way that I am." He stared down at his hairy hands, and then looked at her with a sneer. "Are you satisfied now?"

Anger was replacing the shock Marianna had felt. She didn't understand all his words, but she felt sure that she hadn't done anything to deserve such treatment. Whoever or whatever that man had been in life, it was just a painting, after all—wasn't it?

Standing up right and squaring her shoulders, she faced him. "Can I go now?" she asked levelly.

He turned away. "As you wish."

She walked past him to the door, and then suddenly turned. "You say that you love me," she said coldly, "but what kind of love is this? If this is how you treat those you love, it's no wonder that you ended up cursed." She saw him flinch, but continued relentlessly anyway. "If you really loved me," she vowed, the tears rising up again, "then you would find a way for me to leave this place, so that I could go back to my family—where I belong!" Loosing all control she turned on a sob, and ran away, across the hall, and out the first door that she found.

It was an unseasonably warm night out, or the cold would surely have driven her back inside again soon. When she bolted out the door she had some wild idea of trying to get out the gate, but she hadn't gone halfway through the garden before she knew that that would be pointless—hadn't her father tried it? Her anger ebbed quickly, and left only a feeling of grief. For the first time in a long while she thought of her family at home; of her parents, and her little brothers and big sisters, and she longed, all at once, to be there with them again, where life was free from mysteries and enchantments.

After wandering aimlessly for an hour or so, unwilling to go back in, she finally lay shivering down in the grass beneath the big oak tree, and cried herself quietly to sleep.

In her dreams, the young man came to her as she slept under the tree, and he picked her up, and carried her back to the house in his arms. He laid her on a couch before a fire, and wrapped a blanket gently around her, and when he had finished he sat beside her, and caressed her face, and combed her hair gently with his fingers. Then she dreamed that she heard the sound of weeping.


	14. 13 The Departure

**13. The Departure**

Marianna awoke with a start. She was lying on the couch in the sitting room where she and her Friend so often sat after dinner. The ashy remains of a fire lay cold in the grate, and morning light streamed in through the windows. With difficulty she struggled out of the blankets tucked around her, and sat up. Her hand went to her hair. It was loose and disheveled. Brushing it back, she looked around her.

Off to her left a table had been set with a tea pot and some food. Beyond it, staring moodily out the window, stood the Beast. He was wearing, she noticed, the same suit of clothes he'd had on the night before.

At the sound of movement, he turned around, an enigmatic expression in his eyes. Marianna murmured a greeting and tried to smile, but it wobbled a little bit.

Without comment he went to the table, poured a cup of tea, and brought it to her. She accepted it with quiet thanks, and sipped at it. "Are you hungry?" he asked her in a quiet voice.

"No, no, I…" then she realized that she was actually starving. "Yes, thank you." Returning to the table, he fixed her a plate, placed it on a small table, and moved it where she could reach. Then he returned to his post by the window.

More touched than she could say by his small acts of kindness, Marianna ate in silence, trying to summon the courage for an apology of sorts. His words to her last night may have been inexcusable, but so were hers to him.

Swallowing the last crumbs and wiping her mouth with her napkin, she picked up her now cool tea again. "It seems you must have brought me in last night," she began quietly. "I appreciate your care—"

He swung around to face her, cutting her off. "I think it's time you left," he said.

Marianna stared. "What?"

"It's time," he repeated roughly, "for you to leave me and go home, back to your family."

"But, but—" she gasped, her thoughts whirling, "I thought I couldn't—"

"There is a way." The same words he had spoken to her father, softly.

"A way?" She sat her cup down, gazing at him in painful confusion. "Then why did—why am I here?"

"Because I can only use it one time, for one person, and at a price. Until now, I was never willing."

"A price?" she asked. "What price?"

"One I'm willing to pay," he replied evenly. He turned back to the window. "You have to go home, Marianna. You have to go today."

"But—but—" Quick tears sprang to her eyes, and an overwhelming sense of loss washed over her. "This is because of what I said last night, isn't it? I didn't mean it, you have to believe me! I was just—angry, and confused and—"

"No," he cut her off again. "It's not that. I've been thinking about this for awhile, actually."

Her tears ran over, and she went on heedlessly. "I'm sorry I found the picture, I'm sorry I made you look at it, I didn't know—"

"Marianna!" He strode to her side and placed one hand on her shoulder. "It's not your fault, Marianna, it's mine. It's all always been my fault." Then, in a gentler voice he said to her as he had once before, "Don't cry, darling. I don't want you to cry."

The endearment just made her want to cry harder, but she made an effort and dried her eyes. "Do you want me to go?" she asked.

The question dragged an unwilling half-laugh out of him. "_Want_?" he exclaimed. As if unable to look at her any more, he moved away again, turning his face. "Of course I don't want you to go. You should know that. " He stared sightlessly out at the gardens beyond, speaking in a low, rough voice. "Marianna, you brought light, and life, and laughter where I didn't believe they could come again. You have brought me more happiness in the last few months than I ever thought to have. But—it can't go on like this. Surely you must see that."

"Why?" The question was a whisper.

"Because this is no life for you here, shut away in this place. You should go back, to those who love you and can give you what I can't. You should find a man who will make you love him." He paused and swallowed hard. "As for me—well, even a beast can't bear to be so close to the woman he loves and not be able to have her."

That almost silenced her, but still she wouldn't, couldn't give up. "But—"

"Do you think I want to watch you die?" he cried fiercely, swinging around. "Do you think I want to watch you grow old and wither and die, like all the others who have gone before you here? And then bury your body where I buried theirs? No." He turned. "No one is strong enough for that."

There was nothing she could say to that. Winking back the tears she answered numbly, "Then I guess I'll get ready." Dazedly she stood up and began to smooth out her dress, then stopped and headed for the door. At the doorway she paused and asked, "So do I just get on my horse and ride out—just like that?"

"Just like that," he answered, without turning around.

Slowly Marianna walked through the hall, and up the stairs to her room. She felt numb all over as she undressed and hung up her gown in the wardrobe where it came from, then put on her one shabby, travel-stained dress. The other was still crumpled in a corner, covered in the dust and dirt of the downstairs store rooms. She was going to leave it, but finally decided that she didn't want the sight of it to add to her Friend's distress. So she stuffed it in, dirt and all, with her other belongings.

There wasn't much to pack. Even less than she came with, she thought. The velvet box of jewels sat on the dresser—not _her_ dresser anymore, she thought—but she did not touch them. They belonged here, with the house.

A soft knock sounded on her door, and she went to answer it. The Beast stood there. "I've brought you something," he said, and held out his hand to her. In its palm lay a gold ring, very plain except for one small red jewel on its band.

She picked it up and looked at him questioningly. "Take it with you," he said. "If ever—if ever you decide that you want to come back, turn it on your finger twice, and it will bring you here. But don't—don't come back unless you're _sure_ you—you really want to." His words were poignant with unspoken meaning, and she nodded speechlessly. Then the Beast did something he'd never done before: he took her face between his two furry paws, and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. "Good bye, my love," he whispered. By the time she opened her eyes he was gone.

The same sense of unreality that pervaded her when she first came returned in her leaving. She couldn't believe that she was leaving, but still her feet somehow took her down the stairs, and out the front door. It was a gloriously sunny, cool day outside, rich with autumn leaves just turning. Birds sang and water murmured, and it was just too heartbreakingly beautiful to leave behind, but still she knew she must.

Her horse stood ready, as she knew it would be. A glance in the saddlebags was enough to satisfy her that he had provisioned her well. Mounting, she rode down the long drive way, and out the gate she never thought to pass again. It was already open, but after she went through, it swung noiselessly shut behind her. _He's all alone in there_, she thought. _He'll be alone forever now. _And the tears ran unchecked down her cheeks.

After a while, though, as the peaceful woods soothed her, her thoughts began to turn towards home_. I'm going home_, she suddenly realized, with a lightening heart. _I'm going to see father again, and mother, and little George and Alanna, and the others. _It was strange how little she'd really thought of them since she came to live with the Beast, and when she had it was more with affection than longing, but now that the prospect of a reunion lay before her, she realized how badly she needed it. All the homesickness of the last several months seemed to come upon her at once, and she urged her horse faster.


	15. 14 The Key

**14. The Key**

Two days later, the Germond family was electrified by the sudden return of their lost daughter. As she rode into the yard family members and servants seemed to pour out of every building and door way, shouting, waving hats, running. Gathering them all in her arms, she heaved a deep sigh. _I have missed them_, she thought. _I've missed them badly._

Of course her mother wept, and also her sisters, while her little brothers climbed over each other for a chance to wrap their arms around her, but it was the meeting with her father that affected her the most deeply. He immerged from the house after the others, his eyes wide, and she saw that he had grown greyer and feebler since she left. "Mary?" he whispered. "Is it really you?"

She came to him and embraced him. "Of course it's me, Papa," she said. "I'm home again. I'm home again now." And then her father, her sensible, practical, undemonstrative father, wept, in great heaving sobs while she held him in her arms.

"My child, I thought I would never see you again," he said at last, when he could speak. "I thought he would hold you forever."

"I thought so too, Papa—although it was not he who was holding me, you know," she said, taking his arm and moving toward the house. "It was he who let me go, though."

Walking into the sitting room with him, she looked around with fond eyes at the cozy house. "It's good to be home," she said, smiling at them all. "It is."

And for a time, she was happy. They all urged her to tell her story, of course, but she found she could tell them only parts. Of her dreams, of the portrait, of her Friend's love for her, she said nothing. Just what good friends they had been, and how she had enjoyed her time there, and that he had agreed to some mysterious bargain to send her back. Her mother, who could still not quite bring herself to believe it all, dismissed the subject as soon as she could, and Marianna was happy to let it drop. She was home now—that's all that mattered.

Her first days were filled with so much catching up, and so much happy activity, that she didn't have time to think too much about the lonely creature she had left behind, though she hoped with all her heart that he was not too unhappy. But by the time she had been home for a week, she found her thoughts turning with longing back to the old house in the woods. She missed the gardens, she missed her old room, and her old clothes, but most of all, she missed her Friend. She felt that now, that as much as she loved all her brothers and sisters and friends of old, none of them seemed to touch the same cords within her that he had. Talking with them was fun—but not quite the same as talking with him.

By the time she'd been home for two weeks, she was already fighting a growing discontent, and—well, yes, homesickness. And she worried. She worried more every day about the Beast, and what would happen to him, and what the price was that he had to pay to send her off. Her dreams at night were confused, disturbed, and sometimes the young man would come to her briefly, calling to her, but she could never reach him.

Finally, one night, when she had lain awake for a long time thinking about the Beast, and trying to remember the songs he had played her, and wondering if she should go back, she fell into a deep sleep, and she saw the man again, more substantial and real this time, as he had been in her dreams at the mansion. "Marianna," he spoke to her, and his voice was so familiar. "Marianna, I love you!—I need you!"

"And I love you," she found herself saying back to him.

"Come back to me Marianna," he pleaded. "Come back to me or I'll die!"

"I want to come," she said. "But who are you?"

"Don't you know me?" he asked.

"No! Who are you?"

"Don't you know?" he asked again, and looked into her eyes with his own glowing brown ones, and suddenly she saw him back in the portrait again, looking at her from the canvass, and then, all at once, she knew where she had seen those eyes.

They were the eyes of the Beast—of _her _Beast. Coming together with that realization was the one that his voice, too—the voice she had dreamed of so long—it was the Beast's voice.

"Why you—" her dream self said. "You're _the Beast_!"

Marianna sat straight up in bed, gasping. Awareness was immediate. "Of course," she breathed out. "It's him. It's always been him." With that one bit of understanding, she had her key, and all the pieces fell into place before her. Every question she had asked seemed answered all at once. The family on the walls was his family. The portrait was his portrait. It was that curse that had turned him into what he was now. "What a fool I've been!" she whispered. "How could I not have seen it before?"

Climbing out of bed, she began to dress feverishly. She never doubted that she would go to him—that she would run to him. She didn't know if her knowing would change anything for him, but she had to tell him that she did know, that she understood. She had to tell him that…. She left that sentence dangling in her mind.

Pausing only long enough to slip on some shoes and throw a warm cloak around her shoulders, Marianna looked down at the ring on her finger. She had never taken it off since he had given it to her. Now it winked at her in the moonlight. She closed her eyes, and turned it twice.

_Hey, you there! Yes, you! The people who are reading my story and not commenting! Have mercy on an author, will you? If you're enjoying this, please leave me a line._


	16. 15 The Curse

**15. The Curse**

Something like a strong wind swept over her, and when she opened her eyes, she was standing the great hall, lit only by bars of moonlight from the windows. "Friend!" she called, and her voice echoed back to her. "My Friend, I'm back! I've come back!" There was no answer.

She turned towards the library—the room where, every night she had ever been there, a fire had burned. Now it was dark and cold. A sudden fear gripped her heart, and, grabbing a lantern, she began to run from room to room, calling. Still no sight or sound of him.

She climbed the stairs, and went down the hallway on the left, where she knew his room was. She had never gone into it before, but now she did, with only a hesitant knock.

The room was large and crowded. The bed was empty, and unmade. There were dressers and tables heaped with all sorts of curious things, but she did not take time to study them. All she cared about now was finding _him._

Back to the hallway, and she began checking rooms. He wasn't to be found anywhere. Then she thought of the garden, and hurried down the stairs and out. Bright moonlight lit the landscape up, throwing everything into stark relief. She began her search, moving systematically around, calling for him.

She found him at last laying on the ground amid the rose bushes she had loved so much. In the shadows she would hardly have seen his black-clothed form, but as she called and listened, she thought she heard her name, spoken very softly, and by following the sound she discovered him.

If it hadn't been for that sound she would have thought him dead, he lay so still, and was so cold to her touch. "No!" she cried, pulling him into her arms. "No, no, no!" He was breathing, she realized, but just barely.

"Maria—" he breathed out her name with effort.

"This is it, isn't it?" she said, tearfully bending over him, caressing his face. "This is the price you paid to send me away. Why did you do it? Couldn't you see I didn't want to go?" His eyes closed at her touch, and he leaned his face against her breast, like a child.

"I know," she told him. "I know that you're really that man in the portrait. I realize that now! It's you who's been in my dreams all this time. It's you that I've been wanting."

He reached a weak hand to touch her face, and murmured, "See."

"See?" She drew back a little. "You want to see me, you mean?" He seemed to consent, and somehow she pulled him with her out of the shadows and into full moonlight. Then she sat the lantern to shine on her face. He sighed as if happy, those eyes she loved caressing her, and whispered one last word: "Love…"

As he sank out of consciousness she began weeping again. "Don't leave me," she begged him. "Please! I love you. Even—even in this form I love you." As she said the words she knew they were true, and wondered how long she had really loved him without being able to admit it. But it was too late, and he was gone.

Cradling the limp body in her lap, she closed her eyes, struggling with tears. Then, somehow, something seemed to change, and when she drew back and looked down, she saw the face of the man in the portrait—the man of her dreams—pale and still before her.

This sad confirmation of all her beliefs was too much for her, and she broke down completely, and with longing arms she gathered him against her, and she stroked his hair and touched his face; then she kissed him, on his forehead, on his cheeks, and on his mouth.

It was at this point that, unseen by her, the eyes of the man in her arms opened for a moment, and then shut again, and Marianna felt the lips beneath hers move, and his free arm came up and around her neck, pulling her down, and she found herself being passionately kissed.

"What!" She drew back with a startling exclamation, staring.

The young man lay against her arm, laughing up at her. "But—" she sputtered. "But you're—you're—"

"No," he said. "Thanks to you, I'm not. And I'm—" he sprang to his feet so quickly it startled her, and stood there in the moonlight, looking at his hands and body, and touching his face. She watched him speechlessly.

"It's broken," he said finally, turning to her. "Sweetheart, the curse is broken! _You_ broke it!"

"Me?" she asked wonderingly.

"You!" And he pulled her to her feet and into his arms, and kissed her like she'd always dreamed of being kissed. "You must love me," he finally whispered against her hair. "You must love me or this would not be possible."

"I do love you," she answered, realizing he had not heard her earlier words. "I do love you. I've loved you for a long time, I think, but I just didn't realize it."

With a kind of inarticulate shout of suppressed joy he let her go and turned away, as if he didn't know what to do with himself in this new happiness. "I can't believe it!" he cried, his hands going again to his face. "At last! After so long! At last," he turned to her, "I'm a man again. I'm a man." She thought for a moment that he must take off running or do cartwheels or something, but instead he seemed to decide that the most appropriate expression of joy he had was to kiss her again.

She let him, her own heart thundering with joy. When at last she could speak again she said, "But I still don't understand. I don't know _anything_!"

"Well, now at last I can tell you," he said. "But first let's go inside. My word, I'm cold!" They ran inside hand-in-hand like two children, laughing the whole time.

"We need to get a fire going," he said, "but first—" he led her up the stairs and to his room. From off a table he picked up a certain white china plate with golden letters in some strange language picked out around the rim. She recognized it easily—it was always on the table when they ate. He tucked it under his arm, and at her questioning look, explained, as they made their way back downstairs, "I was given this by the same old witch who cursed me. I guess she didn't want me to starve to death and escape the curse. She gave me a few other things like it, too. The magic will begin to fade now, but I think it will still work for a little while."

He took her to the study, and started a fire in the grate. She watched him wonderingly the whole time, wondering if it was possible that they were still in the middle of one of her dreams. No, he wasn't quite like the dream version of himself—he was paler, and a little thinner, and his clothes were worn and shabby. But he was still just as handsome, and much more dear.

As if feeling her gaze, he looked up at her, smiling. "What is it?" he asked.

"I just… I just can hardly believe you're real," she admitted.

He drew near. "Neither can I, my darling," he said, taking her hands. His eyes wandered over her disheveled hair and tear-stained face. "You are so beautiful," he said. "Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" She shook her head and clung to him, fighting back more tears.

"Now," he said at finally, drawing himself back gently. "I think I must eat something. I didn't really eat much after you left," he admitted softly, "and even though I am no longer dying, I am still very hungry." She nodded her strong agreement, and he took the white plate, and sat it down in the middle of the table, holding it in both hands. "Dinner," he said, "and—" he glanced at her, "are you hungry?" She shook her head. "Some tea then?" She nodded. "Dinner and tea," he instructed the plate, and before their eyes a tea set and laden table appeared. Marianna gasped.

"It gets old quickly, believe me," he told her. Sitting down with a sigh in an armchair, he began to eat. Marianna took her tea and sat down on the floor next to him, but she could not take her eyes off of him long enough to drink much. Her whole being was thrilling with joy, her eyes shining luminously.

The man glanced casually down at her, but seeing her face, he pushed his plate away, and slid off the seat to the ground beside her. "I can eat later," he said with a smile, taking her back into his arms, and stroking her hair away from her face.

"Do you know that I don't even know your name?" Marianna asked him, touching his cheek hesitantly.

His smile went a little twisted. "My name is—or was a long time ago—David de Vigny."

"David," she tried it out. "And is that the de Vigny family gallery that is upstairs?"

"It is."

"Why couldn't you tell me these things before?"

"Because that was a part of the curse. I couldn't tell anyone anything—not my name, not my history, not who I really was. I just had to be—the Beast." His eyes grew dark again, and he looked away to the fire.

"How long ago was this?" she asked him softly.

"What year is it again?" She told him. "Then it was… it was one hundred and thirty two years ago." She drew back a little, her eyes wide, but he pulled her close. "It doesn't seem possible," he said, still staring at the fire. "The years just ran together after awhile, until you came. I don't feel old. Do I look old?" he asked her with sudden anxiousness. She shook her head speechlessly. "You don't mind, do you, darling? I'm only a hundred and twelve years older than you."

She had to laugh at his dry, ironic tone, and shook her head again. "How old where you when this—curse—happened?"

"Twenty-six."

"Then I think you're twenty-six still," she said with conviction. "I mean, wasn't that the whole point—that time stood still for you?"

"Well, I hope so," he replied. Turning his eyes back to her, he studied her, stroking her cheek, and pulled her close to kiss her again. "I used to dream of kissing you," he whispered against her mouth. "It almost drove me mad." Marianna shut her eyes, and willed him to draw comfort and healing from her lips.

_If this makes you happy, you can reward me with a review. All my thanks for those who reviewed yesterday, but there are still more of you I'd love to hear from._


	17. 16 The Story

**16. The Story**

It was some time later when he finally got around to telling her his story. He had moved back into the chair by now, and she convinced him to eat a little more, and then he pulled her into his lap, and it was as she sat there in his arms, her head on his shoulder, that he began to tell her about what had happened so many long years before.

"My family used to own all the land around here for miles," he told her. "We were the local lords. And this house was really something to see back then. I, alas, was the last of my line, and I was spoilt, and selfish. I didn't care for much but my own pleasure. I'll spare you a recitation of my sins, but I believe they were many. Well, one night I was hosting a party here for my friends—some of the same friends who had helped lead me down those crooked paths. But I thought the world of them, then, and so I invited them out here to show off the ancestral home—to impress them. It was a wet night, very cold and rainy. Right when we were in the middle of dinner, my butler came in to tell me that an old lady—a 'tramp' I believe he called her—had knocked on the door seeking shelter. Ordinarily he would have turned her away, he explained, but on a night like this…. He spoke softly, of course, but one man next to me, the one I wanted above others to impress, over heard it, and snickered. I told the butler to send her away, and not bother me again over such trivialities. A few minutes later he was back, most apologetic. He said the woman had broken down weeping and shaking, and asked my permission just to send her to the kitchen for some milk and bread—but I felt like I was being embarrassed, so I waved him away and told him sternly to put her out."

He paused. "It's strange," he said, "but I've never even been able to figure out how I thought I would impress them all by such behavior. But, it's what I did, and if I could take it back I would have done it a hundred thousand times by now." Marianna buried her head closer in his shoulder, touching his cheek comfortingly. He smiled a swift smile at her, his arms tightening.

"That old woman," he continued, "turned out to be none other than the witch herself. She came back—not that night, but several nights later, after everyone had left, and I was alone, and reasonably sober. I was… I was in the gallery upstairs where we met that time. I was feeling very proud of my name and my heritage and my wealth. And then, all of a sudden, she was there, and she _was_ old and ugly, and I laughed at her at first, but—well, when I found myself covered in hair, I started to believe. She told me what I had done, and then she told me that because I turned her away and denied even what would have cost me nothing, she was going to curse me. And boy, did she curse me." His mouth hardened bitterly. "It wasn't enough for her to turn me into some kind of beast, she had to add rules. She added so many rules. I couldn't leave the grounds. I couldn't tell anybody. I couldn't allow anybody to see me, or they would have to stay here too—but I had to leave the gate unlocked, and food always out, for travelers. I would never die, I would live forever, but those who lived here with me would die. So many of them," he whispered. "The older servants, who lived here and were caught here with me—they died, one by one. The travelers—there were two, before your father. One lived here for ten years before he caught pneumonia and I had no medicine, and no doctor to take him to. The other went mad and hung himself after six months." Marianna blanched as she listened to him, thinking of the horror he had endured. "I was glad, really, when the visitors stopped. In the early years, they came quite regularly at night, but I still had the servants then, and they managed them. It was later on that it became difficult, but I got good at hiding myself."

"How did you ever survive it," she whispered. "All those years?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I think things just became—a habit after awhile. I mean eating, and sleeping. As I said, she gave me enough magical implements that I could get what I needed pretty easily. That left me nothing but a few books, and my music. Actually, I think it was the music that saved me." They both sat in a reverie for several minutes before he roused himself, and continued.

"One of her rules was the substitution thing for my 'prisoners.' Neither of the other two had anyone to offer in substitution. Then there was the last rule—but we'll get to that later. When your father arrived, he was the first living soul I had seen for—fifty years? Sixty years? It's so hard to remember. I was still the same outwardly, but inwardly I was mostly dead. When he came into the garden and saw me—so help me, I was glad." Tears came to his eyes now, and he clasped his beloved tightly. "I was glad, although I swear I did nothing to cause it. I warned him away like I had done all the others."

"I know," she whispered.

"I guess I felt like my despair was so much greater than his possibly could be. It meant so much to have someone else here again, especially someone who was intelligent, and decent." He transferred his gaze back down to the woman in his arms. "I liked your father," he said simply.

She nodded. "I think he liked you too—as much as he could under the circumstances."

"When he begged me for a way out, I knew I had to offer it to him—that too was one of the rules—but at least I knew I would get something in exchange. Even a dog seemed like good company. Of course," he admitted, "I did remember what he said about his daughters, and although I thought it was a crazy, vain hope—I _did_ hope."

"So you _were_ expecting me!" she exclaimed, sitting up. "I thought someone must have come in and cleaned that room and gotten it ready for me."

He grinned a little sheepishly. "What else did I have to do?" Then he grew more serious. "In the early years, I actually had that room kept constantly ready, waiting and hoping."

"For what?" she demanded. "A—_woman_?"

"Not just _a_ woman," he corrected her, pulling her back tight against him, "but _the _woman—the one, the only person would be capable of breaking the curse."

Her eyes widened, remembering his earlier words to her. "How?"

"By loving me," he replied simply. "The witch told me that the curse would be lifted when I met a woman I loved more than myself, and when she learned to love me too—even in my bestial form." He looked adoringly down at her, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "I had given up hope," he whispered. "I had decided her promise was a taunt, because she knew it would never come to pass. Even in fixing up your room I felt like I was just mocking myself. I didn't even know why I bothered to do it.

"And then you came. You came, and you stood in my hall, young and fresh and sweet, with your hair that's red and gold and silver, and those—_unfathomable_ eyes." He paused to press his lips to them. "I came alive when I saw you, Marianna. I remembered what it felt like to be a man. I had forgotten, you know. But—it was your very beauty that terrified me."

"Is that why you avoided me?" she asked shyly.

"Of course. I dreaded seeing your face when you saw how hideous I was. I thought you might faint, or run away. At the least, I never imagined that you'd actually want to spend time with me. But you changed all that, didn't you?" He placed his hand tenderly on her cheek, and she kissed it.

"But you watched me," she said teasingly.

"Every chance I got," he smiled, pulling her closer. "You were more than I ever expected, Marianna," he whispered. "Instead of running away from me, you came to me—and for that I will never cease to love you."

"And I love you," she reiterated, and he sighed deeply.

"It was enough, at first—being with you. Just talking to you and looking at you was heaven compared with the hell I had been living in. Not just your beauty, but your sweetness, your spirit, your warmth—I felt more alive every day, and more human. I almost forgot, sometimes, that I wasn't a man any more. That day I tried to kiss you I _did_ forget, for a few moments—but your face reminded me."

"I'm so sorry, David," she said. "I felt terrible about it even then."

"No," he shook his head. "It was natural. What else were you to do? But that was when I realized that I couldn't hide my feelings for you much longer, and that your friendship wasn't enough any more. I should never have asked you to marry me, though. That was wrong."

"David—" she objected.

"No," he insisted, "it wasn't fair to you and it wasn't right. Even then I knew it, but I was so desperate. I had this crazy idea that maybe if you said yes then that would break the spell right then. But I would never have wanted you to accept out of pity. No man would, for one thing. For another, what good would that have done us, even if we could have found a way to perform the ceremony? I would still be a beast, and I could never have kissed you, like this—" he kissed her lingeringly, "—and I could never have—" he paused, and she flushed slightly. "I could never have been a proper husband to you," he continued. "What kind of life would we have had then? Oh," he pressed his lips against her hair, "but those last two months were enough to drive man or beast wild. I was so close to you sometimes I could smell the fragrance of your hair, and hear you breathing, but I couldn't hold you, or kiss you, or—"

This time it was Marianna who cut him off, by the simple expedient of turning her head until her mouth met his. For a long time he kissed her, and when at last he drew back she lay against his arm, her face flushed and rosy, and her eyes half-closed. Her hair glittered in the firelight. With a groan he buried his face against her. "If there were any way to manage it, I would beg you to marry me tomorrow," he said. "How much torture can a man take?"

She laughed contentedly. "Is this torture?" she asked David, running her hands through his hair. He smiled.

"You know it's not," he whispered.

For awhile they stayed thus, wrapped in each other's arms. Marianna was the first to rouse herself. "But what about the dreams?" she asked.

He looked puzzled. "What dreams?" She told him, and his jaw dropped. "Sweetheart, I had no idea, really. You—are you _sure_ it was me you were dreaming about?"

She nodded. "That's why, when I found that painting, I was so—dumbfounded, and, and electrified." She laughed at her own choice of words. "I was frightened, too. I thought some ghost had come to inhabit my dreams."

He shook his head, and then suddenly laughed. "Well, by all that's holy! Maybe that old witch didn't hate me so much after all!"

"Well you know, I think you may be right," she said seriously, "because it was that dream that brought me back here." Then she told him that story. By the time she finished David was staring off with a distant look in his eyes.

"I wonder if she knew," he mused. "I wonder if she knew all along how it would be. And that provision—that suffer-a-lingering-death-to-send-her-home provision she gave me—she must have known that I wouldn't use it until I had already fallen in love. Maybe it was always meant to be the trigger for everything else."

"I still can't believe you thought I would want you to give up your life that way," said his lady reproachfully. "I didn't want to go as it was."

He shrugged. "There was nothing left that I could see to do. You didn't love me—as I thought," he added with a smile, "and I didn't know how much longer I could stand the status-quo anyway, so…. I thought that if I could ensure you a full and happy life by giving up my own miserable one, then that would be a pretty good bargain," he concluded, and Marianna cried for a moment into his shoulder before he kissed her into smiles again.

By this time light was beginning to dawn outside, and they both started to yawn, but neither one wanted to leave the other, so they stayed that way, in the chair together, murmuring and whispering to each other until they both fell asleep.


	18. 17 The Happily

**17. The Happily**

It was only a few hours later than Marianna woke up again, but she felt immediately full of energy and eagerness. She climbed carefully out of David's lap and arms, shivering. The fire had burned out, she saw. David himself still slept, his head resting on the wing of the chair. One wavy lock of brown hair fell over his forehead. Her fingers itched to sweep it back, but she didn't want to risk disturbing him. If anyone ever needed sleep it was probably him, she thought. Looking around for something to cover him with, she saw her own woolen cloak, discarded the night before. She draped it around him carefully.

On the small table sat the remains of last night's dinner. She wasn't used to seeing left-overs in this house. She looked at the plate, remembering what he said about its magic. Shrugging her shoulders, she grabbed a few stale bites, drank a swallow of cold tea, and went upstairs.

There was no hot water waiting by her door, of course. She fetched herself some from the old pump out back, and washed quickly. Then she dressed herself in her favorite court gown, and brushed her hair until it shown. It was so good to be back, she thought. It was so good to be _home._

While she twisted her long tresses into braids, she hummed to herself and thought dreamily of life to come. Now that the curse was lifted, they would be free. They would get married in the great hall, with her family there, and they would restore the old house to its former magnificence. The images of it from her dreams rose to mind. _We'll make it that way again_, she promised herself. _We'll rebuild the walls and redecorate the rooms, and even fix the cracks in the walls, somehow._

Her hair finished, she reached into the jewelry box, brought out the emerald necklace, and clasped it about her throat. _His mother's necklace_, she thought with deep satisfaction. Her face in the mirror smiled back it her. It was a beaming, blushing, happy face, with eyes like dark stars, and the braided coronet of hair a reddish-gold crown.

Ready at last, she stood up, smoothed her dress, and went down stairs and into the garden to sit amid the flowers, and wait for him.

When he came (as he most certainly did), she watched him stride across the grass to her and thought how much younger and more carefree he seemed already. It was like the long years were falling away from him as a garment. He had told her as much, the night before. "I don't think I can't even remember it all as well as I could when I started talking," he confessed, passing a hand across his eyes. "It's blurring, and fading." She felt glad, and especially glad, now that she saw him in the morning sunshine, looking so happy and eager.

She ran to meet him, and he caught her up, and twirled her around, then kissed her joyously. "When I woke up this morning I thought for a moment that I dreamed it all," he said, pulling back. "And then I looked at my hands and realized I hadn't. You know," he confessed, "I had to hunt for a mirror this morning. I broke them or put them all away long ago. But I thought it would be nice to see my face again after all this time."

She laughed. "There's one in my room."

"I may come look at it later. The only one I could find was really small, and I didn't really get a good look, except to see that I need a hair cut and some sun." He rubbed a hand across his chin. "I'm going to have to find a razor, too."

She smoothed his hair back with a smile. "I think you look fine," she said.

"Well, that's a mercy at least." He smiled back at her, touching her face and hair lightly. "_You _are always exquisite."

She shook her head. "You just think that because you haven't seen another woman in the last hundred years."

He had to laugh at that, but said, as he drew her arm through his and they began to walk, "My love, it is not the least of your charms that you have no idea how beautiful you really are. I remember the women I once knew, and many of them were beautiful, but in my opinion, not one of them rivaled you." She blushed, and said no more.

When they came to a point where the house could be seen in its entirety, he stopped to study it, wrapping an arm around her waist. "What a derelict," was his verdict. "Never mind, sweetheart, we don't have to live here. We can get some place near to your parents instead."

"But I want to live here, David," she protested. "I love this place. And now that the curse is lifted, we can restore it, don't you see? We'll make it beautiful again."

He scratched his head. "Well, about that, darling, I think we need to talk." He led her over to a bench, and they sat down together. "I've been thinking about this ever since I woke up this morning," he began. "The fact is that…" he faltered a moment under her wide, puzzled gaze. "The fact is that my family's money always came from the surrounding lands that we owned. Everyone for miles paid us rent, or tribute, or something. And that… well, that's not how it is anymore. I don't really know what all happened around here after I 'went mad'—I believe that's the story that got out—but by now it's all owned by the state, or the farmers themselves. I don't really know. The important part is that it doesn't belong to me any more. And even if it did—who would know? Our name is probably forgotten by now. Had you ever heard of the de Vignys?" She shook her head. "Exactly. Probably no one has but historians." He sighed. "I was a profligate man, Marianna. I spent the money as quickly as it came in—quicker. Any fortune we had was probably almost spent by the time this happened. Even if there was a bank account somewhere with my name on it still, how could I prove my identity? They would never believe that I'm the same man."

Marianna pondered these things while he watched her face anxiously. "But don't you have a—treasury, or something?" she asked.

"You've been all over that house. Did you ever find a storeroom of treasures?" She shook her head again. "That's because it isn't there."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry, darling," he said remorsefully, "I know this isn't what you expected. I wish for your sake I could have it all back again—although it never brought me any happiness. You know the truth now: I'm not a prince from a story book, but just a man who loves you. We won't be paupers," he continued quickly. "There are many valuable things in the house that we could sell, but now that the magic is gone we really have no way of supporting ourselves here. I'm going to have to make my own way in world, like everyone else—like your father has." He sighed again. "We've been living in a fairytale, my love, and now we have to go back to the real world."

Marianna thought about this for a minute more, and then she shrugged, and smiled. "Oh well," she said prosaically. "I expect Papa will give you a job in his business—and we can always come back for summer holidays, can't we?"

He burst out laughing, and gathered her up in his arms. "Yes, we certainly can," he said.

_One more chapter to go... leave a comment, if you please._


	19. 18 The After

**18. The After**

Four days later two people rode down the lane to the Germond family home. They were a bit of an odd sight, both wearing far outdated clothing (Marianna had insisted that at least one of her beloved gowns was going back with her), and the man riding a rather inferior animal they had bartered for at the first village they came to. Their saddlebags bulged with all sorts of strange items, including a small harp strapped to one side and bouncing comically against the horse's haunch. But they were still, it must be admitted, a very handsome couple.

Once again the house discharged its remarkable load of human souls into the front yard. "Mary's back, Mary's back," her younger brothers shouted, dancing around. There was perhaps less surprise this time, but no less interest, as they all surveyed the pale, handsome man who stood so quietly by his horse while she greeted them all. "Everyone," she announced, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, "I would like you to meet David. We're going to be married."

Great was the clamor that arose then! For David, so long used to silence and solitude, it was overwhelming at first, but as he looked around the ring of smiling, laughing, jesting faces, the realization came to him that he had, at last, found a family.

A hush fell over the group as her father, called quickly by messenger, rode up. He climbed off his horse, and took Marianna in his arms. "Thanks be to heaven that you're home again, daughter," he said.

She took him by the hand, and led him over to where her love stood. "Father, I want you to meet someone—although really, you've met him before. This is David de Vigny."

Her father extended his hand uncertainly, and David grasped it. "I hope you will forgive me for all the sorrow that I've caused to you and your family, sir," he said in a low voice. Mr. Germond started, and stared. "I don't quite look the same as I did the last time you saw me," David explained.

The man shook his heard, unable to believe what the familiar voice was telling him. "It can't be," he said. Marianna grasped his arm.

"It is, Papa," she whispered. "It's him—it really is."

He turned his bewildered eyes on her. "But—how?"

"He was under a curse, Papa, remember? That's what made him what he was—or seemed. Underneath it, he was always a man." She turned her shining gaze back to the man she loved. "Underneath it, he was always David."

Mr. Germond looked from him, to her, and back to him, and then swallowed hard. "Well, you've better come inside," he said.

Once again the family circle gathered to hear the fantastic tale. Once again Mrs. Germond shook her sensible head at it, and then dismissed everything but what were, to her, the salient points: Her daughter had come home, and brought a young man with her. She had a wedding to plan.

The two of them were married soon in her parent's home, with her family around her. Marianna wore an ivory satin dress modeled after ones she used to wear, with roses at her breast, and silver lace over her hair. Around her neck glimmered the green of her favorite emerald necklace. David looked at her adoringly. The young ladies present sighed sentimentally over the tall, handsome stranger, while the local lads wondered why they hadn't taken more of an interest in Mary Germond while she was available. After the ceremony, one long-time friend of the family came bustling up. "Your parents told me you went to spend time with your cousins up north. If I'd known they had such men up north, I'd have gone there a long time ago myself." She laughed a tinkling laugh, and Marianna smiled politely. "Tell me, dear," she continued, "_where_ exactly did you find him?"

"Behind a wall in an enchanted house," replied Marianna promptly.

The woman shook her head. "_Such_ a tease," she admonished her, and bustled away to tackle the groom. Across the room, David's bemused eyes found hers, and she smiled reassuringly at him. He smiled back, and they shared a look full of promises to come.

Mr. Germond did, as Marianna had predicted, give David a job in his business. The young man had much to catch up on in the way of modern developments, but he learned quickly, and it wasn't long before his breeding, education, and innate charm were proving themselves a great asset to the merchant. He applied himself to this first real profession he'd ever had, wanting to prove his worth, and soon found that deep satisfaction that all true men take in successful work. He and Marianna made their home in a pretty little house near by to her parents, where brothers and sisters were constantly dropping by. They grew roses in their garden, and their door was always open, and no one was ever turned away who came asking help. When in time children swelled their number, they moved to a larger house, but always remained near her family.

As they had hoped, the memories of the bad years continued to fade for David, like the terrors of a nightmare fade, and in time almost passed away completely. He continued to play his harp all the years of his life, but, although he was skillful, his music never again had quite that same haunting quality that it had before. Marianna and he talked about it, and decided that that too must have been a part of the enchantment.

As for the house, they went back to it—all of them went back to it, the whole clan. Marianna and David could always find it. At first, the family wandered around in amazement, staring at the walls and the furniture and the flowers, but then Mrs. Germond's cleanly soul began to protest, and she rolled up her sleeves and began to scrub. It was, of course, a very large house, but with half-a-dozen energetic women working away on it, it soon lost its unkempt aspect and began to shine. In time even many of the fabrics and drapes were replaced. Some of the young men took a look at the outside walls, and set skillfully to repairing the worst of them. Alanna, Marianna's younger sister, who loved flowers almost more than life itself, took an unspeakable joy in working in the gardens. They were much too large to be easily tamed, of course, but she industriously weeded and pruned all the areas that needed it most, and by the time the men carted in a load of lawnmowers and mowed down the deep grass, the place began to look almost civilized again. And for many, many summers to come the Germond and de Vigny children and grandchildren ran and played and laughed in its halls and lawns, and in that way they banished the shadows of the past, and brought love and peace to all that had waited so long for them.

**The End.**

* * *

_**Author's Note**_

I truly believe that of all the classic fairytales, the Beauty and the Beast is the most truly romantic, perhaps the only truly romantic. Most fairytales depict a love-at-first-sight sort of thing, and one has to struggle to create a real relationship between the characters that goes beyond "hey, she's beautiful," and "wow, he rescued me." The original versions of many fairytales were very adult and very shocking, as compared with the sanitized children's versions we read now. In the Sleeping Beauty, for instance, the prince actually rapes the princess while she's sleeping, and she gives birth to twins. One of the babies sucks on her finger and sucks out the splinter from the poisoned spindle, and that's how she wakes up. In Rapunzel, our heroine (who doesn't strike one as terribly bright) gets thrown out of the tower when she asks the witch why her waist is expanding.

This is to say nothing of the violent fairytales, where people get boiled alive, cut off other people's heads by shutting chest lids on them (and then boil them for supper), are crushed by millstones, stand frozen on loaves of bread until spider webs grow over them, and (in the case of Cinderella's sisters), cut off parts of their own feet so that they can wear a tiny shoe.

Ah-hem.

In the midst of all this, the Beauty and the Beast stands out for having a hero and a heroine who _spend time together_, who have long conversations and are kind to each other. Although the lady is beautiful, the hero must woo her gradually. He treats her with respect and sacrificially allows her to leave, breaking his heart and nearly dying, because he doesn't want her to be unhappy. The heroine learns to love someone who is ugly on the outside but beautiful on the inside. The whole story is about their relationship, and what could be more romantic than that?

Thanks for reading and please leave me a comment if you enjoyed it.


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